


Turn, Turn Again

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Historicals [2]
Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7923508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU! When Henry found himself yet again without a queen to sit by his side, his search did not go beyond the candidate he had in mind. Anne of Cleves had thought herself safe enough when Henry had declared her a sister. Little did she know that title would not hold a candle to his demand that she come to court as Queen once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beyond a Brother's Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always been fond of Henry's fourth wife, I found her interesting as a person and as a potential power. 'The Tudors' only made me love her more. So, after long considerations and battles with myself, I decided to write a short AU piece in which the death of Kathryn Howard makes Henry turn to a more reliable Queen, which is his one-upon-a-time-but-not - really wife Anne of Cleves. This story takes its main inspiration from the series 'The Tudors'. So to those of you that cringe when history is butchered to fit some author's ideas, I hope you may forgive the inaccuracies - both for characters portrayal and action - and still read the story with some pleasure.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Tudors', of course. I am simply a fan looking to have some fun with its engaging characters.
> 
> Enjoy

 

 

 

 

 

 

Henry was not certain what had led him to this woman's bed. His most beloved sister. How laughable! God would punish any brother that ever lay thus with his sister. But before being named sister, she had been his wife. His wife. Henry traced the swell of her hip and smelled her scented hair, not without feeling a stirring. What was it that made her appealing now, after all this time?

Kathryn had failed to become quick with child. After many beddings she showed no signs of new life within her.

Anne – or Anna as she told him her name to be – stirred lightly, pressing her body firmer to his. Nay, his thoughts were not brotherly, nor decent. What had started as feather-light touches turned into strokes. Had he really though her a mare? It all seemed like some distant dream. Christmas had made all the difference, and this woman, so honest and untouched by the cruelty shown to her, was finally deemed desirable. A murmur, a light hiss of contentment left her as his palm passed over the dip of her waist. Henry closed his eyes and draped his arm over Anne's middle. She was warm, solid proof that he was not alone. He could not be alone.

Jane had brought all this on with her death. It had been too soon for Anne. Henry wished he could turn back time. If only he had had the time to properly grieve his beloved Jane. She had left a hole within his heart; his very soul had been torn by her demise. Henry had not known how to properly fill the void. Women did not leave him. He tired of them; he grew to despise their tricks. Nay, women did not leave him, he left them. What he wanted he got. Except for when that which he desired he came to understand too late. Such was the case of Anne. Her he could not touch now, not with a clear conscience, not without a heavy heart.

Henry had been surprised when she handed the ring back. Her wedding ring. It seemed to him that she was trying to sever some sort of tie that had up until that point escaped his notice. A thing of no importance, she'd called it. But it had meant something to him, having the gold piece in his hands. Henry hadn't told her, nor was he likely to, but the ring was not destroyed. He kept it as a reminder of what could have been.

No matter, Kathryn was his wife, young and sweet and innocent. Anne would remain his secret. Creeping into this bed with her, holding her for comfort, it would have to be enough. He would only ever know this half-fulfilment, and they were all the better for it. This sudden urge to have her would pass. Embracing her was enough. Henry wanted to prove to himself that even so close to temptation he could hold back. For Kathryn, he could do it. Anne understood he did not seek to perform with her. She took his hold for what it was and drifted to sleep in his arms. Such was her innocence. She trusted in him.

How long was it since a woman placed her trust in him, truly? In him, and not in her own sway over him?

The anger would pass. Henry held onto Anne just a little tighter than before, willing her presence to soothe him. Sleep would not come if he kept wandering inside his mind. Henry stilled his thoughts, suppressed them until nothing passed the thick shroud of darkness that had descended. Dreams took him to places unknown.

When Anne awoke the sun had not yet risen. The pale morning light bathed her rooms, illuminating what had been previously in the dark. Somehow and sometime during the night positions had been shifting. Anne found herself facing the sleeping monarch, one of his legs between hers, caught in the many layers of her shift and covers. One hand pillowed her head, fingers tangled in her light brown hair, the other encircled her, palm resting on the small of her back.

This was as intimate as she had ever been with her former husband, Anne realised with a queer wave of sadness shooting through her. They had shared a bed before, yet they had not touched like this when there was nothing to be gained by it. She felt his muscled leg between her own with a sense of incompleteness. As if something was missing. Strange. When he had tried to consummate their union, she had not felt this thrill at his skin touching hers. Anne had been afraid and shy, not at all warmed by his invasive touch. Now it felt different. Pleasant. She hummed softly

In proper light she could see the hair at his temples had started to grey. Had he had silver streaks when they first met? Anne did not remember. In fact everything about those first few meetings was confused and hazy. What she did recall to this day was the unmistakable sense of danger rolling off of the man.

To Henry women were prey. He was, as many others of his sex, a conqueror, or so he desired to believe. The women willingly played the game with him. They were to be seduced with soft words and evidence of passion. Having seen him thus, Anne did understand the appeal. He was no young gallant, but he was still handsome in his dignified way, she ruminated absently, gently brushing a silver strand away. She could not blame those women that fell for his charm. Hadn't he convinced her to allow him to sleep in her bed using said allure?

He might not have taken her maidenhead, but Anne did not doubt he had felt some sort of attraction to her then. He had to. Henry was the one to ask permission to join her in her rest. To tell the truth, she had been slightly disappointed when he showed no sign of wanting anything more than an embrace of her. Yet she was not so foolish as to demand more than was her due. She was no longer wife to him.

He took on a silly little girl to be his Queen. Anne held no malice in her thoughts. It was a simple observation, based on what she had seen of Queen Kathryn. She was lively and sweet and very, very young. She hoped Henry found comfort in her. For all her silliness, she might love the King. He showered her with gifts and affection, and for a girl so taken with these worldly gains, Kathryn was sure to return his affections.

Allowing such thought inside her head would do her no good. What was done was done for better or worse. Warm brown eyes looked with kindness upon the sleeping man. She kissed his brow and made to remove herself from his hold as easy as she might. He must have been tired. She had seen it in his face. She'd heard it in his voice.

"You think to leave me before I wake?" he questioned, startling Anne just as she was about to lift his arm off her waist. Yet Henry did not give her the chance to do more than squeak in surprise.

"Your Majesty," she said softly. "Good morning." A smile played on her lips. Had this been the days of their marriage she would have most likely gone red and stuttered out a reply. But a far less shy Anne accepted the kiss to her cheek with grace. "I hope you have rested well."

"Very well," Henry replied, taking her hand in his. In a not so distant past he would have rolled out of bed and been about before she could gather her courage and reciprocate. This time though he was content to hold her hand until her lips found his own unshaved cheek.

It was her first kiss that had woken him from his light slumber. These days he found himself waking early and pushing his body to its limit, hoping that keeping fit would enable him to better satisfy his young wife. But lingering abed with the warmth of Anne held in his arms proved too big a temptation. Kathryn would have to wait on his pleasure.

The newfound playfulness pleased him. This woman understood him better than he thought she once did. As if sensing he was in no hurry to leave her presence, Anne settled back in his arms, careful of the leg she knew bothered him. "Where are you headed for, Your Majesty?"

Distractions worked best. "I plan to see my son." There was a certain pride in his face when he spoke of his son. But joined too was sorrow. It seemed that he could not think of the son without remembering the mother. "He will be turning four years old." Anne had not seen Edward, Henry recalled. "I should like to introduce you two one of these days."

"Nothing would make me happier," she murmured, pleasantly burying herself into his chest. "Whenever it is deemed appropriate." Her accented voice proved oddly soothing.

Only later after they had separated ways and Anne was left to her thoughts, only then was the struck by the enormity of it all. After the annulment of their short-lived marriage – and the humiliating, emotionally scarring attempts to bed her – Henry had not sought her out at first. But then the most amazing thing, he visited her out of the blue. Anne had learned to expect the unexpected. She learned not to hide her smiles. She learned to relax in his presence, and all was well.

For her it seemed most natural to keep a close relationship with his children. Even if briefly, she had been their stepmother, and she had grown exceedingly fond of both shy, reticent Mary and lively, naïve, sweet Elizabeth. She would never have children of her own; she no longer had a husband, yet she could dote on those presented to her by the King in good cheer. Mary was perhaps more her friend than her daughter, a lady of strong opinions and kind-hearted, if timid. But it was understandable of a person who had gone through what she had endured. Elizabeth glowed, unstained by the treachery of court. She was smiling and dancing and generally a happy girl, though aware of the potential danger to her life should she anger her father. That made her careful of him.

Edward was yet unknown to Anne. Whispers painted him as a healthy boy with his mother's looks and his father's constitution. He enjoyed playing and was shy of strangers. He was content in the care of his many caretakers and delighted in his father's visits and gifts whenever he benefitted of them. By all accounts a delightful child who would make his father proud, and had his mother lived she would have been in agreement.

Anne spent the rest of her morning on a piece of embroidery, knowing well enough that Elizabeth would relish in the chance of having the time with her father. It was a pity Mary could not join them too; she would have liked it without doubt. Despite their differences, despite the demise of their mothers, the two girls loved their father. Anne imagined they could do little else when they witnessed those instants in which he proved his affection for them too.

Growing up, she had not been close to her own father, Johann the Duke of Jülich-Cleves-Berg. In her case it had nothing to do with an estrangement from her mother, but rather with the simple fact that she was a girl, and women before marriageable age were of little to no interest to their fathers. She could not complain of that. Yet he had died before he saw her married – and shamed then divorced; Anne took comfort in that. Her mother hadn't been all that affectionate with her children either. Duchess Maria was, in her own words, a strict Catholic and an even stricter mother. She had raised three proper daughters, giving them whatever lessons she deemed necessary.

Her sisters, Sibylle and Amalia, had loved her well, and in turn Anne had loved them too. They had been close in age and for a time the best of friends. Until Sibylle was married they had been an inseparable trio. Anne found herself missing the connection. She would look out the windows in her rooms and sigh, wishing to be back in her parents' home, back to playing with her sisters, occasionally stealing out before the household woke in order to swim in the lake. What a pity childhood could not last longer. The English court suited her now, but in those first months she had been lost without the kindness of her sisters.

Wilhelm had been perhaps the sibling she got along with least. As their father's heir he thought to lord his position over all of his sisters, from a very young age presuming to give them orders. Father had been amused, and simply though the boy would play his role well when it came the time. Mother had simply informed them it was their duty to submit to the head of the house. And since Wilhelm was not yet head of the house, they always found some trick or another to pay him back.

Her childhood might not have been filled with adventure, but Anne loved it nonetheless. She had been happy and protected during her father's life. She had not known insult or shame, not until she stepped into Henry's court. Anne wondered briefly what would have been had she married Francis, not yet Duke of Lorraine, only of Bar. Would they have had children by this time?

In truth it had been Wilhelm to insist on her marriage to Henry. Anne had heard tales of gruesome quality about her would-be-husband. She had been afraid. And she had been right to fear him, a man who set aside his first Queen, beheaded the second, and had the third die birthing his child. What met her was not what she had expected. Despite being older than her by much he was still a handsome man. She could have grown to love him, she thought now as the needle pierced the gauzy material of the kerchief she was embroidering. The previous night had proved that much.

"It is of no use, Anna. Turn your thoughts," she advised herself.

"My lady?" one of her maids reacted, probably thinking she had been speaking to them.

"Nothing, Lady Isabella." She smiled to assure them not one thing was amiss. "I think we should have something to drink. I am awfully thirsty."

Her maids had a way of fretting over her every need. They seemed to think that unless her commands were carried about in a blink of an eye she would be displeased. Anne had tried dissuading them, yet the notion remained fixed in their minds. On this day more than any other. Instead of trying to stop them, Anne sat back and waited for her goblet to be filled.

The door opened to admit Henry and his daughter. Anne rose and fell into a curtsy in time with her ladies. She attempted to act as if nothing out of ordinary had passed between them – for in a way it had been a repeat of their conjugal habit of sharing a bed. She surprised even herself with the steadiness of her own voice. "Your Majesty."

"Lady Anne," he said, and she understood the silent permission to rise. He nodded to her ladies, a bit impatient. "I would have words with you, my lady."

Dismissing her women with a nod, Anne wondered if Elizabeth was to stay. But Henry sent her to whatever activities would suit her. Knowing Elizabeth, it would be her new Latin book. "Your Majesty?" What a chance it was from the man he had been mere hours ago.

"My daughter had been singing you praise this whole morning," he noted with a serious voice, yet not at all displeased. Her slightly flushed face brought a smile to his visage. "You have cared well for her. I am grateful to you."

"I have made my sentiments know when it comes to your delightful children." Careful words for unbidden sentiments. Anne smiled, and folded her hands demurely to her front.

"Elizabeth will be visiting with her brother in a two months’ time. Should you like to join her, she would be most welcoming." He waited for her answer and was not disappointed by her reaction.

Anne stepped forward and took his ringed hand, bending to ghost a kiss atop his signet ring. "Your Majesty is very kind. I shall tell Lady Elizabeth that I would be greatly pleased to join her."

In this light her hair looked almost blonde, Henry though, biting back the urge to run a hand through the loosely bound strands. How soft they had felt between his fingers. Almost as pleasant as her body in his arms.

"Now, I must make haste and be on my way." Or else he would not be tempted to leave for a longer period. Anne could not fathom what thoughts ran through his mind then, entwined with her amid silken bed sheets. Henry would leave, before he risked anymore than he had. England did not need more enemies.

Elizabeth and Anne saw him off, both in good spirits. They waved and smiled, and he promised to visit with both on another occasion, a visit which would be longer. Perhaps he would be able to sort out his feelings for Anne and this desire she woke in him. He was willing to reflect on the changes that had taken place. Anne of Cleves, how had he dismissed her as being beyond his notice? Henry shook his head to dislodge the thought. He was going to see his son. It seemed utterly inappropriate to think of his never-truly-wife when he ought to think of his truest Queen.

Windsor boasted a lively court of women around his son. Henry found the boy much improved now that words left his mouth in an intelligible manner. No thoughts of female companions bothered him when he put the boy on his knee and gave him the gift he had prepared. Edward was a happy child, and for that Henry was glad. They boy was offered the best, from clothing to toys, and he relished in the attention of others.

Jane would have loved to see him like this. Henry looked at the golden curls of his son, untamed still, and reminiscent of his mother. He could see very much of Jane in his face, around his eyes and mouth. They were alike in temper too. Or perhaps the boy was yet shy of him. Having learned from past mistakes, Henry employed every ounce of patience he possessed – which granted was not a lot. But his son brought out the best in him, so he weathered the occasional sullen lapses into silence with good humour. Edward would not start a conversation on his own, but he answered when questioned and thanked when proper. Once he was comfortable he would venture out a few short sentences at a time.

Henry was glad for having come to see him. He could already picture the child as he got older. He would have his father's stature, and his mother's patience; the best of them both. Under diligent guidance he would be prepared to assume his position when he would need to. Henry hoped to see him grow and become a young man loved by those he met.

Perhaps having Anne, Mary and Elizabeth around him would do the trick. Sweet Kathryn was Queen, her presence was needed elsewhere. She needed to produce a son. And then, once she was a mother, Henry would see about allowing her a say in his children's education. Yet even in his mind it made for a comical image. Nay, if Henry thought better of it, Kathryn would not be all that concerned. Anxiety did not suit her, she would rather dance.

Unwittingly he compared her to his first wife. That Catherine had been born to be Queen, graceful and dignified, with an eye for politics. Her only fault had been her incapacity to give him a male heir. Such a pity. He had been fond of her, even thought he loved her for awhile.

The other Anne had not been so much a Queen as she'd been a lover. And Jane, his dear Jane, she had been perfect, biddable, sweet and docile. If she had not died, none of them would be in this situation. Why did God see fit to give with one hand and take with other? Henry smiled at his son. For the first time in a long time the question did not leave a bitter taste in his mouth. It was what it was.

"Come see what other gifts I have brought you," the King encouraged.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Many Kinds Of Defeat

 

 

 

 

 

 

The air had taken on quite a chill in the past few weeks. Anne wrapped the shawl around her dainty shoulders as she and Elizabeth sat in front of the hearth, warming their limbs. Nights were the worst. If one was not careful they could wake up and find themselves prey to fever and coughs.

"My father rides North with the Queen," Elizabeth went on to say. "Mary has joined them. I heard the Queen was distraught when she found out my sister was to take the journey with them." She laughed gaily.

"You mustn't judge her so," Anne chided with her accustomed gentleness. "She is young and unsure of the King's love for her. Mayhap she thinks Mary's opinion will influence your father."

Mary did not much like the new Queen. Anne remembered that she hadn't liked her either at first. Given time, they would start getting along better. That was Anne's dearest hope. Henry needed a united family if he was to turn his attention to other troubles of the state. But if she thought better on it, Anne realised that even Elizabeth, quick to love as she was, had not taken to young Kathryn, not even in friendship. It would be a lot of work to maintain peace.

Walls had ears. In any palace that was a truth. More so, it seemed, in the English court. Voices whispered now and again about the young Queen and her apparent incapacity to provide a male heir. She had been with the King for a while, and still no babes. Anne wondered if she would have done any better. Her eldest sister fell heavy quick enough after she became a wife. Their mother also. Perhaps she ought to have asked Henry's permission to wed some lord or another.

"Tell me, would you like to ride out early on the morrow?" Anne asked, feeling a change of subject was in order? "You must be anxious to see your brother again."

"You read me so well, my lady. But I fear any happiness he may find in seeing me will be eclipsed by the awe he shall hold for you." Elizabeth was a very well-spoken young woman when she had nothing to fear of her collocutor.

"You have a gift for words, sweet Elizabeth. Do you enjoy poetry?" Anne had not had the chance to much study poetry at her father's court, yet here in England she had been allowed any such books she desired. It had taken time for her to learn to read in English, yet the effort had been worth it. She confessed that they gave her a thrill. Perhaps she ought to pursue Latin as well as those poems were said to be of a nature to delight.

"Indeed I do!" Elizabeth enthusiastically exclaimed. She launched a good-natured conversation on verse and its properties, contributing most of the information, glad to have the chance to share it with someone. "Mary is not so fond of poetry. I am glad that you, my lady, are more agreeable to it."

Allowing Elizabeth to express her pleasure and interest in poetry gave Anne time to think of her own situation, and her brother's latest letter. Wihelm had yet to forgive her for not securing her position as Queen any better than she had done. Never one for kind words when he though them meritless, age had not tamed her brother a whit.

Wilhelm, ever so disposed to be the ruler of his castle, thought he ruled over his sister too, even though she was now a subject of an English King. Anne had told him as much, and in no uncertain terms asked that he cease treating her as a member of his court. Wilhelm put her here in the first place. That he now deigned to find it absurd that she remain unwed, and he urged that she pick a man of wealth and status among the English to wash away the shame seemed most unfair to her. To that she had simply confessed that the new-found independence suited her fine and she was loath to give it up – even on the order of her dearest, most caring brother. And indeed, Anne would not do so, unless the situation called for it.

Her mother had taught her principles and rules, and those had applied fairly well at her father's court. Yet in England they held little value. Here she had been taught the art of survival. What would or could not bend, broke. Anne was in no hurry to break. So she smiled and swallowed her complaints and made good with those around her. After all, she depended on the goodwill of the King and his whims. It was a men's world she had been thrown in.

At least the Duchess asked often after her, attaching to her brother's harsh letters, softer words and motherly care. She wrote that Amalia missed her and begged for details of the English fashion. Yet mother advised her to be circumspect in regards to the information she shared with her sister. It was unclear whether she supported her continual stay in England or not.

"Oh, Anne! Do you think father will have me over this Christmas?" Fretting over which gown to wear, Elizabeth hardly even gave Anne time to reply. "Mary went last year, and even you have attended, my lady."

"It is barely even autumn," Anne reminded the young woman gently. If Henry had said he would invite her, then Elizabeth had nothing to worry about but a dress. "I should think he will be having you. Mary will insist. I will even write to her if you wish me to."

She could have said she would speak to Henry in person. Yet knowing the King he would not visit her too soon, not for a few months at least, and if he did none was to say she would influence him in any way. That said, Anne was not foolish enough to mistake a few sweet moments for triumph.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The mare in her possession was a docile being. Anne brushed her mane softly and was delighted in the nickering. The journey had not been long, merely a bit tiring. But Windsor Castle was a beautiful sight for sore eyes. Anne did not think one could live in such a place and not feel blessed.

She was helped down from the horse's back by a tall, young man with bright green eyes. Anne only noted his appearance because he looked familiar. Something about him stirred her memory. She tried to recall having seen him, yet nothing came to mind. Anne did not miss the slight tightening of his hold on her hand. However she chose to ignore it, even as she felt his gaze following her. What business was it of hers if a squire, servant or whatever else chose to look her way?

Both Elizabeth and she were led to a large, well lit room. The light of day burst through the tall windows, boldly touching the furniture and sumptuous rugs. Lady Bryan greeted them first. She was tall, taller than even Anne and slim. Her face was pinched, but her voice was pleasant when she introduced herself and she did not hesitate to offer a welcoming smile to Elizabeth. Anne she did not regard with much warmth, but the German lady supposed that to be a result of no previous acquaintance rather than impertinence, after all Lady Bryan bowed respectfully and was the soul of propriety.

"We have come for my brother," Elizabeth informed the matron cheerfully.

"Aye, my lady, he has been nothing but smiles since hearing his sister would come and visit with him. My lady." This was addressed to Anne who inclined her head in response. "His Majesty let us know you were coming. It is my hope your stay here will be comfortable and of some duration."

"We plan to stay at least a full moon cycle, my good lady Bryan." She seemed to have assuage the other's curiosities for the moment and it was soon announced that the Prince was arriving.

Sure enough, a chubby lad with a merry face and a healthy constitution bound from the hall into the room, running into Elizabeth's arms. The sister was happy to embrace him, pushing him into the folds of her dress. "Oh, Edward! I have missed you!" She bent to kiss his cheeks in a show of sisterly affection. "I would like you to meet someone."

Urging Edward gently to turn towards Anne, Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "Dear brother, this is Lady Anne. She is very dear to myself, and indeed, to our father, the King."

Anne, following courtly customs, bowed to the little boy. "My Prince," she murmured, loud enough for it to be heard and not mistaken for anything other than it was. "I am honoured to meet you."

In return, he executed the most graceful bow a child his age could muster and smiled fully at her. "My lady."

"Come, child. Let me kiss you." As Elizabeth had done before her, Anne knelt to his level and took his little face between her palms. For a few moments she allowed herself to inspect the open face. He would be handsome when he grew up. Not as zealous as Elizabeth, Anne's movements were naturally of a finer nature, less hurried and more elegant. "I see much of your father in you."

Despite his colouring the Prince's face spoke of a bone structure clearly his father's. The comical irony of Anne's words could be tasted in full by Lady Bryan who skilfully hid a smile. It all depended upon the angle which one chose. The Prince was a fine mixture of his royal parents.

As far as Anne was concerned, meeting little Edward was a privilege. He was a delightful, sweet child. It made her long for one of her own, when she saw him running around with his toy soldiers and wooden sword.

"Is he always this full of energy?" she asked Lady Bryan as they walked through one of the smaller gardens on the castle grounds. Elizabeth had opted to stay in with the Prince, but Anne wished to stretch her legs after her long journey in the saddle.

"More often than not," the caretaker replied, her furred collar brushing against high cheekbones even though Anne did not feel it was yet time to encumber one's own self with such thick clothing. "The only grievance of the Prince is that he may not step outside as often as he would like to."

That Anne understood. The boy was yet young, susceptible to coughs if allowed in the cool air. "Surely it is best to be safe rather than sorry," she noted in a cheerful manner. "But he is a happy child, showered with gifts and holder of his sisters' love."

"My lady, may I speak freely?" They had both stopped near a rose bush whose flowers has started to scatter. Anne nodded her permission, curious for what would follow. "I confess to not knowing what to expect when I first heard you were to come here. I feared for the Prince." Her eyes were downcast. "I was wrong. My deepest apologies, my lady."

They must have wondered why the King would set her aside, all of them. It was natural that they be cautious about her reasons for visiting the Prince. "Lady Bryan, fear not. I understand the reasoning behind your sentiments. Your apologies are heartily accepted." She needn't punish a woman that only wished the good of her ward. "Come, I see you have a lake down there by the copse. Do you keep any kinds of fish in it?"

Diplomacy was one of her strong suits when it came to dealing with other ladies. Anne had learned that it was better to have them as friends, and if not that, at least pleasant to herself. So Lady Bryan went on to provide for Anne a brief history of the palace and set about to describing its grounds and main attractions in full detail.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The North was as Henry had expected it to be. His mood was improved by the cheering crowds and a continued show of obedience. And of course he made good sport of the Queen's affection for him, yet something continued to bother him, rather like a stone stuck at his heel.

His Kathryn was no closer to becoming a mother than she had been at the start of their progression. Yet she was happy and carefree as if nothing weighted her down. The flightiness of her character reflected not only on herself but on him as well. She was neglectful of her duties, pursuing pleasure when she should be doing something else entirely.

Henry himself felt no great thrill when he thought of bedding her. During his previous marriage she had stoked roaring fires within him. Now she barely raised a flame. She was demanding, amorous, yet yielded nothing when it came time to count the crops. Kathryn had lost some of her charm. She had grown reticent and withdrawn.

If she thought her behaviour beyond his notice, then she was a very silly girl. Henry boasted a number of lovers, skilled women some, others innocent. Kathryn's youth and vivacity had drawn him in, her apparent purity beguiled him, her well-dosed mischievousness charmed him.

Yet he found his taste running to genuine innocence, the one he had found in the touch of another. Abed he found the space beside him empty. For all that calling for Kathryn was not an urge he felt, rather his lips formed a plea for Anna. In his mind he called her thus, Anna. Anna who had lain with him without making demands, the same woman whose fingers had caressed him softly, careful not to wake him. He had enjoyed her gentleness and her eagerness to please even when she thought herself alone with nothing to gain out of it. But Henry had not been sleeping.

He would not find such peace with Kathryn. She liked being held and caressed, but her own hands took not a care with him. She enjoyed being the object of worship, not the giver.

How Henry wished he could go back to Hever now. Politics and the incompetence of his men troubled him to no end. The Scots, with James as leader, gave him trouble. He wanted some peace and quiet. A spell of relaxation. He had had that in Anna's arms, and he wanted it again. Damnation! Should he have called her to attend as well? With what excuse? She was not bound to follow him now.

Wrestling with himself only led to an uneasy rest. Punching his pillow savagely, the King turned from one side to the other. The creaky boards, the cool air, the vague sounds; everything bothered him. He could not stomach having Kathryn again so soon after having proof of her failings.

His courtiers plotted, his country tore itself apart, and Henry was too tired and disappointed with it all to lift a single finger. The morrow would come. With it James would make his appearance, and perhaps after the business was finished he might visit Anne once more. Or mayhap find her at his son's residence as she had undoubtedly joined Elizabeth in her venture.

What he did not know was that his own Queen satisfied her needs with a man he trusted, with a man counted among his favourites. The night hid many secrets, not the last of which was Kathryn's affair with one named Culpepper.

In her own foolishness, Henry's young wife sought gratification in the touch of a fool even greater than herself. Unwise was he that dared get too close to the sun. Yet neither of the two had ever boasted a wise head on their shoulders. So blind led the blind to temporary pleasure and a sentence to the scaffold should they be discovered, though none would know of it until nothing might be changed. Kathryn was delighted to oblige her lover and appease any misgivings he might have had of her love for him.

Culpepper was more than happy to receive her touch and promises of affection, though he knew he was not free to accept them. The fact that she belonged to another man, his King even, did not deter the lover. In fact it only seemed to make him more desirous of the woman who shared his bed.

Poor, young fools. Had they been less reckless they would have known such an affair needed planning. Haste had no part in such encounters. Every detail needed to be nicely painted, so that if ever suspicion rose from a corner, they would have excuses at hand. But no one had informed them of such practices.

Kathryn was a creature of born to be loved. She hungered for affection and took it where it was given. Yet she was not a constant lover. What she loved today, she would hate on the morrow. What brought a smile on her lips in the morning, would bring tears once the sun had set. She though her attachment to Culpepper strong enough to withstand anything. Yet she had not tried the King. Woe to her if they ever be found out.

Queens had lost their heads for less. Henry did not forgive, and he did not forget. He would have vengeance, and it would be sweet for him. But young Kathryn lived in a world where her problems could be brushed away with a smile and a promise of goodness. Not for one moment did it cross her mind that her luck might change.

What God gave he could take from those that displeased him. And perhaps the breaking of promises displeased him greatly so, for the King's court felt the whip on its back, each individual in their own way. Problems would come, more and more and less likely to be solved with words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"What is this commotion?" Anne asked one of her ladies. "Go see, and bring me word." The book she had been reading was placed on the stool to her right. Anne waited for the woman to be out the door before she rose and started pacing. Her other ladies watched her.

Lena came back with grave news. "The Prince," she said, her voice atremble. "He is ill. Sick. Feverish, my lady. There is a physician with him."

Yet he had been a fine lad just that morning. Anne squared her shoulders. "I cannot sit here in good conscience and do nothing. Fetch me a light dress."

She dressed herself with haste and no particular care. Anne was more concerned for the child than for her appearance. Her ladies she ordered to stay behind, choosing to go on her own. Elizabeth stood outside the Prince's chambers with Lady Bryan. She found the two drying tears.

"How is he?" she asked, handing a handkerchief to the older woman. "Is it life-threatening?" She worried her fingers, wishing her crucifix hadn't been left in her rooms. It would have been good to hold it for comfort in these trying moments.

Anne wished away the forlorn thoughts, praying for a favourable outcome when the physician came out to tell them there was yet hope. If his fever went down. He would be saved. Taking to the boy's side, both she and Lady Bryan urged Elizabeth to bed.

Remembering that her mother insisted their foreheads be bathed in cool water whenever fever struck them, Anne requested a basinet of water and fine cloth to be brought to her. It was a wide-practiced means of ensuring comfort if not a cure. The physician gave her a sceptical look, but as she outranked him, he was bound to follow her orders. "Should something go amiss, be it on your head, my lady."

A simple nod was his answer. Anne would not be dissuaded. The smooth, clean cloth was dipped into the water, and with great care she washed the Prince's forehead. Beads of sweat ran down his small face. One could tell he was suffering through feverish dreams. She barely heard the arrival of other persons in the room.

Lord Heartford looked positively stricken upon apperance. But even so, he demonstrated good sense when deciding to keep the knowledge of the Prince's illness away from the King. "My lady, I count on your discretion in this matter," he said to Anne as she changed the strip of cloth for another, leaving the Prince’s forehead damp. “And on your superior knowledge.”

"Be assured, my lord, I have it on good authority that this will at least ease our Prince's discomfort." She regarded the man with a cold look, yet sympathised with his worry. It was important for them all that the Prince made it out alive and well. "If his fever should not break until the morrow-"

"His Majesty will have to be told." Lord Heartford sunk to his knees beside the bed and looked at the child. "God help us all if he is not well."

A silent agreement passed between them. Anne returned to caring for the child, even going as far as to occasionally change him out of his damp linens. To her it did not look to be more than a chill, yet how could one know?

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. And Then Silence

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lady Isabella turned a heavy ring on her finger, in two minds on the matter at hand. Her mistress had yet to remove herself from the child's side; she hadn't risen for anything, not even to eat. It was well past midday. Lena and Beatrice had gone to fetch her spiced wine to keep her stomach from becoming ill, but the cup sat untouched on the small table straight before Lady Anne. She had barely take a bite out of the small pastries to her right, stating that she could not think to have more than one swallow when the child suffered under the cruelty of fever. Persuading her to reconsider proved an impossible task, and the only result it yielded was a mild scolding from their mistress. "You are more than welcome to have your food, Lady Isabella, but when I say I intend to take not one more bite, then by God, I mean to take not even one more." And that had been the last she was willing to say on the subject.

Sliding closer to her, Isabella, leaned in, close to her ear. "My Lady, at the very least, drink some of the wine." Isabella took the cup and held it before Anne. The other woman remained silent, for a few seconds, not even looking at the offering. "My lady," Isabella insisted.

As if woken from a dream, Anne shook her head. She blinked a few times, and stared at Isabella in inquiry. Her eyes fell to her companion's hand, and she raised her own to take the burden away. "Thank you, Lady Isabella. I am sure you must be tired. You may refresh yourself with a walk through the gardens."

"My lady, perhaps you would join me?" the woman asked, taking the cup as it was offered to her. "A walk would vastly improve your disposition."

Turning dark eyes towards her, Anne observed her coolly. "You may leave, Lady Isabella. Send Lady Meredith up to me." Embroidery in her lap, Anne reassumed her vigil over the Prince. Her hand touched the forehead in hopes of finding it cooled, but the boy burned still, fever gripping him in its clutches. "Have mercy, heavenly Father and deliver the child from his trial." She crossed herself and looked out the window. There had been no change despite the best efforts of the physician who attended the boy.

Had her thoughts shown on her face, or was it simply that they all thought along the same lines? Anne was somewhat surprised to see the wizened physician shake his head almost sadly. "He shows no sign of improvement, my lady. Perhaps a walk would be beneficial."

"Nay, good master. I will not be moved from this chair unless the situation calls for it," she laughed somewhat bitterly. Obstinacy was one of those faults she was born with, inherited from her own mother some said. "Is there nothing else you can do for the Prince?"

"There is bloodletting, of course." Yet taking a knife to the Prince was not permitted. His body was the King's body. They would need Henry's approval. "Perhaps if my lady would write to His Majesty."

And lose her head for something out of her control? Anne rather thought not. "It is my Lord Hertford's duty to write to His Majesty. Yet I would speak to my lord on the matter." It did not take more than a single nod to understand she was to hurry in her endeavour.

Anne rose from her seat. Just then Lady Meredith stepped in. Seeing her mistress upon her feet she gave a bow. "My lady, you have called for me?"

Meredith was still a little unaccustomed to the English society and its rules. Like Anne she had come from the German court of Cleves. Meredith's mother had been an Englishwoman, of no notable family but of some fortune. She had married a lord of the German court back in the days when her father had been young in rule. Meredith was the last of eight children, only a couple of years Anne's junior. Her father had died before Anne became Henry's Queen and her mother had tried to marry her to some lord or another, yet was met with failure. So, Wilhelm had sent Lady Meredith to his sister, not long after the annulment of her marriage and her settling permanently into Hever Castle.

Anne had been glad for her. Meredith's father had been a true Lutheran, her mother a Catholic. But Meredith had followed her father's faith. She had received a good education in areas still strange to Anne. For the past months, Anne had found herself taking an interest in the information Meredith would share with her. She was a sweet young woman with a sharp wit. And she was a true friend.

The more docile, sentimental Anne counted on Meredith to keep a clear head when there was need for it. For such reasons she had kept the young woman away from the sick child, least the image make her knees waver too. In their wish for children the two of them were much the same.

"I have need of you, Lady Meredith. I shall be in my private parlour. See Lord Hertford makes his way there. I wish to have words with him." Her words had been firm enough to please the physician, and Anne saw herself obliged to make her way to said rooms.

Lord Hertford, Edward Seymour, did not keep her waiting long. He bowed upon entering and sat when she beckoned him to. "Lady Anne," he said emotionlessly, though the haggard appearance spoke of his state better than any words might have. He was impatient.

So Anne would not keep him waiting either. "The physician thinks the Prince needs the remedy of bloodletting."

Cool eyes glimmered in the light and it chilled the blood in Anne's veins. "That is not possible. As weak as the boy is now, it would kill him." And he could not write such to the King. "For the sake of us all, he must find another way."

Lowering her gaze to the ruby ring on the man's finger, Anne sat in contemplation. Both seemed content to sit by one another for the moment. The companionable silence could almost be compared to the bond soldiers formed on the field of battle. Both aware of the dangers that lay ahead, both trying to have one last moment of peace. Anne stole a look at him, the brother of a dead queen. She wondered how he felt about Kathryn Howard. Hadn't he been one of those who encouraged the King's pursuit of the young woman?

Meanwhile, Edward was conducting his own little experiment. Lady Anne was the picture of decorum, and a motherly figure despite her lack of experience. He did not rightly understand the distaste His Majesty held for her. She was not a beauty that bowed one over, but her features were pleased enough, English fashion actually helping. Indeed, she had been young and fertile when she'd married the King. It was a wonder he hadn't taken her maidenhead, only to visit with her after he had remarried. Eyes and ears, Edward Seymour knew how to make use of them.

"Will you have some wine, my lord?" she asked politely, seeming to remember she was hostess. Anne held the pitcher over an empty cup, waiting for his approval, which was freely given. She poured the drink.

Her cordial manner came as something of a surprise. He had been the one to tell her the King was putting her aside. He had walked away with a bow, heard the commotion behind him, yet ignored it all like any dutiful servant should. Edward remembered the muffled sobs. He had witnessed firsthand the meekness of the woman. In his experience rarely were the noble ladies gentle. She had given up her crown without a fight.

Perhaps there was some intelligence to her. Both Catherine and Anne before her fought tooth and nail for what they thought to be their right. This woman chose to save her dainty neck. It had helped her immensely. That and her natural, good-mannered behaviour made of her a creature to be admired, whereas at first people had held but pity. She was probably the only woman whose goodness he thought close to that of his dead sister. To her core she was a decent human being. It had been noted by emissaries and dignitaries alike.

The popularity she boasted was not of a political nature though. They admired her gentle wit and sweet smiles. They thought her a poor flower whose petals had been ravaged by a harsh wind. Yet they did not see the resolve in her eyes, nor the true power of her mannerism. She may yet outlive them all if she continued on her path. There was more to be said of the German Lady from the Duchy of Cleves.

"To our Prince's swift recovery." He lifted the glass to his lips, noting she had not poured herself one. "My lady, if by the morrow he is not awake, I shall write to the King." He had meant it as means of placating the woman, yet her eyes shone with barely restrained tears. On instinct he tensed, knowing fully well women were given to long shows of distress. He began saying something but she held up her hand.

"My lord, you must excuse me. I do not mean to seem impolite, but I would like a few moment alone." Brown eyes closed briefly.

Edward climbed to his feet rather awkwardly. "My lady." He bowed to her and made his way out, again leaving behind a sobbing lady. It seemed he had a talent for it.

Meredith must have been close, for before Anne could think to do anything other than reach for her handkerchief, the other entered the room holding a letter. She did not comment of her mistresses' looks, but held out the missive. "This arrived a couple of days after we had already left, my lady. They sent it to us by the fastest means possible, thinking it might be of aught import.”

The letter bore her brother’s own seal, yet Anne found within not the words of Wilhelm, but of someone else. A man she had not thought of in some time. Making her way to the window, Anne nodded Meredith away. "You may go, Lady Meredith."

To say the contents of the letter surprised her would have been an understatement. She would have laughed had it been any less absurd. Anne turned the sheet of paper around in her hands. "So many words," she murmured.

Francis of Saxe-Lauenburg was writing to her after many years of silence. He was no particular friend of hers, yet for a time he had been a good friend to her brother, despite their age difference. Anne had at one point been considered as a potential bride, but it had not reached any further than words. She had walked with him in her mother's gardens, followed by every eye in the castle upon them. Francis had been charming enough, yet he hadn't held much interest for the child she had been then. And Anne herself had never fancied herself in love with him, she hadn't even developed a true affection for the man. Yet here they were; he wrote to her, and she accepting the letter.

Stranger occurrences had been heard of. Anne glossed over the pleasantries that occupied the first half of the page. He wrote to her in hopes of finding a friend within this long lost acquaintance. It seemed that her brother had disclosed to him that Anne was still unwed, despite her break from the King and the freedom and riches at her disposal. He was wondering, as his own wife had died not long before, if she were willing to consider him as a possible candidate once she returned to her own home, so dear to her heart. Laughable indeed.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Anne found that her brother too had written a short message, strongly advising her to give the matter some thought. Anne could not possibly understand why he was so bent on foisting her on all these men who did not want her. What gain could he possibly have? He no longer had any power over her. She would not bow to any of his edicts anymore. So, Anne did the only thing that came to mind, she shoved the letters in a drawer. Perhaps Meredith would be interested in the venture.

Of course, Meredith was not of a mind to return to any German Duchy if she could help it. "My lady, my only wish is to please and serve you," she replied to Anne's inquiry if she would like her to write to the Duke.

"You could have a comfortable life as a duchess." They both knew it would not be so. Francis was known for his extravagance. He would likely take every coin in his wife's possession and squander it away. "Do you have anymore letters for me?"

"The Duke of Palatinate-Neuberg writes, as well. It seems you are much in demand, my lady." Yet it was a comfort to have one of the more congenial relations writing to her mistress. "Shall I read it to you?"

"Do so, my dear, do so. I fear I have been left temporarily blind by the gracious offer my brother saw fit to concoct." A roll of eyes, and a show of sharper wit. Anne felt well enough by the time Meredith began to read.

"He writes that he misses your scintillating conversation and good humour, and that in times when troubles are upon him, he thinks of you and your courage. It helps him much, or so he says. And, of course, he hopes he will be permitted to visit, now that you are well settled." At this Meredith looked up. "Do you think you should have Lady Mary over for supper?"

"It is not a rare thing for me," Anne replied, already thought coming to her mind. "Yet nothing will come of it. The King does not favour the match."

"The King need not favour any match, my lady," was the answer she got. "We are not planning a wedding. Just a few courses of food and good conversation." But Meredith's eyes sparkled.

"Look at us, my friend. We cannot find loves of our own, yet we may do so for others." They shared a laugh. "Does it not seem strange to you?"

"I say we are doing admirably well, my lady, all facts considered." Wrapping the letter neatly she passed it to Anne. "Shall I bring out something to embroider or else should we have a game of cards?"

Anne shook her head. "I shall go back to the boy now. We may play our games after he is better." Or not at all if he should not. Anne brushed the folds of her dress with firm fingers and left the room as quietly as she had gone in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Charles Brandon thought himself a strong man. Yet even so he knew he had his own weak points to contend with. One such flaw was that he cared. Not in the sense of bleeding for every injustice he saw, yet he cared for his friends, for his family. If he could not show it as well as he should, it did not make it any less true. So, being a foolish man who cared, he also noticed. He saw what others brushed aside as mere coincidence. He saw, and it pained him to no end.

Now he looked at the Queen who was giving amorous looks away as if they were coins. What bothered Charles was that the receiver ought not to have been looking at her in the first place. Yet how could he have expected any different? Charles knew women. Or at least he knew women of Kathryn's nature. Easily won, wilful and wanton, desirous of one moment's glory. They wished to be queens without the effort of ruling. They likely wanted to dance and sing all day long. The head on their shoulders was only there to look good. What they did not understand they despised or thought beyond their notice. And as they understood most nothing, their whole world was made up of dresses and ribbons and a good tumble from their provider now and again.

Kathryn Howard had a certain charm. She was a skilled actress, an even seductress and a foolish child all in one. Charles hadn't been sure at first. But now he understood it well enough. He could see how a woman that not a few weeks past looked at the King like he was the rising sun, now glanced to a servant with affection and hidden-meaning behind the glass of her eyes. It would not end well. That much was clear.

The fact that she had not conceived yet made the King even more likely to tear her to pieces should he catch wind of the affair. And, unfortunately, the girl did not seem anything less than careless, nor was she the sort to remain at words only.

Turning his eyes away from the grotesque scene, his King came in the line of sight. It was not a good day, this day. King James was late. Either he meant to snub them by keeping them waiting, or he would not be coming at all. Charles wondered which would be worse. Henry would be angry anyway. Did it really matter which was worse when bad luck seemed to have attached itself to England's tail?

With a soft sigh, he fixed his eyes on the entrance. Something was going to happen. And it would happen soon.

True to form, disaster struck. It came in the form of a messenger. He had ridden hard by the looks of him; dust still clung to his cape, and his flushed face spoke of ill news.

Impatient as ever, Henry barely waited for the man to finish his bow. "Well, what do you have to say? Speak!" His voice had been low enough for the command not to resonate through the entire premises.

If Charles had imagined something bad, nothing could compare to the truth. The Scottish King had spit on their offer of peace, or he might as well have. His actions spoke of disregard for any rules of civility. He dared lift arms against the Englishmen. He dared burn and pillage. Henry would not stand for it. An order to retaliate was given. Tension was now rising higher and higher. Thomas Seymour was made responsible for the particular business and he left in a hurry.

Yet then the thought of revenge did not quell the King's fury. With savage rage he destroyed the peace offering that had been prepared for the Scots, sending a spray of white pears each and every way. The beads rolled on the floor, scattering beneath dress hems, heeled boots and capes. Pieces of solid gold littered the ground. And no one moved.

Even the senseless Kathryn had the decency to tear her gaze away from Master Culpepper and stare in horrified amazement at the mess. No doubt she thought it a waste of good pearls. Charles would have found it amusing under any other circumstances. As it was, he could do naught but lower his gaze and hope for something to stay his king's fury.

Such something came. It took the form of a wretched soul, trembling in his boots. Another messenger. Charles felt sorry for the man. Yet Henry showed no such care. He almost ripped him to shreds before he could deliver his message. And what a message it was.

The Prince was ill. Those words were all Henry needed to hear before he had his horse readied. Some courtiers wanted to follow; others thought it wiser to stay. If the Prince would not survive, they would do well to stay out of the King's sight. Charles climbed atop his horse nonetheless and followed the man who was a friend of sorts. If one could call any king a friend.

Riding was a habit. It came easy, and for the most part it was a pleasant activity. Yet now, more than ever, Henry wished his horse had wings. It seemed he could not get to his son fast enough. Charles followed his lead, pushing his heels into his horse's flanks. The beasts galloped away, and in their wake others followed. Daring a look behind, he saw a reluctant Queen riding before her supposed lover. The might have shared a look, they might have not. Charles turned away. It was no problem of his what the Queen chose to do or whose company she chose to keep when the King looked away. Be it on her own head, if she allowed her foolishness to kill her as others had done before her. An ugly bit of business to be sure, yet they'd come this far; God might yet preserve his fools.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Henry stormed into his son's room in such a manner as to startle the other occupants. But he paid them little to no mind. The only important person in the room could not see him. Edward slept in his bed, blond hair matted to his sweaty forehead, eyes closed and breath laboured. His perfect, beloved son. He was in danger, gravelly ill? How could it have happened? Why hadn't they been careful with his son?

The rage to which parents thought themselves entitled when it came to their children's wellbeing did not pass kings over. Henry would have bellowed and cursed had he but the strength to. Yet he had killed much of his energy riding. His leg ached. His heart more so. Yet, even in such a state, he knelt by little Edward's bedside, blind to every other person.

It took some time and effort for him to be able to concentrate enough to hear what the physician said, and even more to look about the room and observe himself not alone in his grief. His daughter Elizabeth and the child's uncle were both there; she wiping her tears away, he glaring at the physician. Most unexpected was Anne. He did not think upon his permission to have her visit his son. The only thing that came to mind was a vague sense of gratitude for her presence. He noticed her concerned looks and tentative steps, but he was just as helpless as she, and would not allow himself any comfort.

Only well into the day did he speak for the first time. Having knelt by the bedside too, only facing him, Anne bowed her head in prayer. She hadn't placed herself in his line of sight, but Henry had felt her presence, or rather the scent that marked her presence. "How long?"

"Your Majesty," she acknowledged him, yet offered no answer. It became clear to him that she was not willing to answer when she lowered her head once more, ready to sink back into prayer.

"I am his father," he chided, voice hoarse. Henry held Edward's hand in his own. His blue eyes stared at the kneeling woman. He willed her to speak. And he would not be met with refusal.

Perhaps sensing it was her turn to produce speech, Anne gave up her prayer. "Yes, Your Majesty, you are his father." She stopped there, waiting for a signal. She could not offer him the answers he sought, nor would she.

Henry would have caught her arm, had the bed not been so wide as to place a larger breach than the span oh his arms. He might have even told her a few choice words had she not lifted her eyes to him and given him a shaky smile. "I do not think God has kept him this long to take him from you now, Heinrich. He is strong," she whispered, and in her words he recognized the truth he had longed to hear. "He is his father's son, Your Majesty."

Outside the sun shone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have used in my work two persons by the name of Francis. One is the Duke mentioned in this chapter. The other is also a Duke, but of Lorraine. Both existed in reality, and if you wish to have more information on them you may consult Wikipedia.


	4. Pretty Dearling

 

 

 

 

 

 

_To my brother Wilhelm, the right Duke of Jülich-Cleves-Berg,_

_I am writing these lines to assure you of my continual well-being, as per your request. I am not in any way in need of consolation, despite your insistence to offer me condolences upon every possible occasion. I was the daughter of a Duke, and now am sister of a King. As far as ascensions go, I find myself content, dearest brother._

_The King is well, and happy in his choice of wife. Queen Kathryn is a lively young woman. She is dear and sweet as any maiden ever could be. They shall be happy, I do not doubt it for a moment. I too benefit from His most gracious Majesty's happiness. He is kind to me, having provided me with both an adequate sum of money and lands. I have no complaint to lodge with you, brother._

_My progress in their language is somewhat amazing too. I had thought to remain a mute the rest of my life, those first months, knowing only the barely minimal notions. Yet now I read and write passably well. I think my fears were unfounded, and find myself appeased by the wealth of literature and arts that is to be found on English soil._

_Your latest letter has put me much in thought though. You mean for me to meet the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg once more, when you yourself saw the mutual disinterest on both sides not too long ago. I confess I am loath to return to our small states after I have been so accustomed to the English court. I have made myself loved here, and I am not so dispose as to give up my position. For all intents and purposes, I am a member of the royal family, with all it entails. I have lands and finances, servants and responsibilities. You understand my reluctance to return now, do you not?_

_Yet I would not have it said I am a disobedient sister to my own blood. I have not forgotten myself. If the Duke thinks to wed me, I should be pleased to receive him at my own estate, Hever Residence, when he will come. But may I inquire if the Duke would not be better served in his purpose by Amalia? She is younger than I, better suited for motherhood and of a general sweet disposition._

_I must thank you most kindly for sending Lady Meredith my way. She is of much help to me. I do not think I could find a better companion myself had I dreamed her up. I shall send to you the news that Philip is most eager to visit with me once more. Should the Duke meet the idea with no opposition, I would be most welcoming to him if he chooses to come in Philip's company. For that you shall have to write to Philip for the details, as I have naught but a general idea and time frame._

_Having written all that I wish to communicate to you, I leave you, my brother, with wishes of your good health and prosperity. May God bless you, as he has seen fit to bless me._

_Your most devout sister,_

_Anna, Lady of Jülich-Cleves-Berg_

Thus ended Anne her letter, meant for her brother, Wilhelm on a note of sweetness. She ought to have used harsher words, she ought to have flatly refused his suggestions, yet Anne was intrigued. Could this Duke, friend of her brother that he was, really wish to reacquaint himself with her?

Her own vanity was stoked by such notions. After all, she was all too human, and affection was something she craved. Alas, she could not simply marry a man on her brother's orders. This time she would also need the consent of the King. Yet Anne did not think that a problem. If all went well, in his joy, Henry would not hesitate to give her the freedom she requested. Likely as not, he would be glad to have any stain on his name removed by her blissful marriage to another man. If the man so happened to be a sea away, all the better for everyone involved.

Such thought were consolation for Anne as she thought of her brother's plans. She could have pointed out that the last time he tried his hand at matchmaking the result had been disastrous for two countries, and embarrassing for her. Yet Francis was not unknown to her, so if he decided she would suit him, and she took to him, it could all go very well.

Of course that involved leaving behind England, with all its glittering parties, sumptuous court and lively gentry. It would mean returning to a small Duchy, under the thumb of a man once more. At least in England she had freedom, much more than she would possess at a Duke's court. Much more than any husband would give his wife. But Anne would not be cowed now. She sealed the letter, pouring the customary red wax, she took a signet ring which had been her mother's. Blowing softly over it for luck she pushed it into the blot at once, upon the folded paper, leaving its mark neatly imprinted.

Nay, her purpose in life was to make herself happy. If by any chance she though Francis could prove that for her, she would do anything to see it come to fruition. If not, who said a short few days in the company of an old acquaintance could not be pleasant. And who knew, she might even persuade Meredith to make a home for herself.

Anne took the letter, scribbling on its back the intended receiver. Lady Isabella was called upon to see the letter was delivered in the hands of a messenger and instructions given. Even fatigued as she now was, Anne took no more than a couple of mouthfuls of wine and a small triangular piece of bread. Her stomach did not agree with grace but she was not ready for much of anything else.

Returning to her vigil was not an option she could afford however. Anne turned around just as the door opened to allow in Henry. Knowing by the look on his face that company was not welcomed, Anne curtsied, as did her women, but she sent them away with a silent command after the King greeted her. "Your Majesty, please, have a seat."

Those blue eyes found her letters instead of her face. He walked towards the table and sat down. Picking up one of the folded papers – for a woman never had just one letter to write – he analyzed her hand awhile. He wanted something to take his mind off of the misfortune that had befallen him. Anne stood by his side, momentarily complying with his wish for silence. Henry turned his face away from her but his hand caught hers, the same one she had fisted into the folds of her dress. It was something very like the one she had worn when he'd lasted visited with her. The one he had unlaced with heaving breath and an expert's touch; the one he had been glad to see leaving her form. He unclenched her fingers and twined his own around hers. Her subtle catch of breath prompted a frisson to run down his spine.

"Madame." He tugged on her arm, a delicate pull, but one which stirred her into action nonetheless. She took a chair opposite his, and he wished she hadn't. He needed her closer. "The light is too weak for you to be answering letters at this hour." He would rather he had found her abed, unconcerned, asleep, just like his Queen. It would have given him reason to grow angry, to put his hands on her. He needed a human that understood him. Burning eyes sought those darkening orbs of hers. He wanted her. "He will not wake."

The turmoil inside the man did not escape Anne's notice, nor the hurt. "The day has been long, Your Majesty. Perhaps we should to bed. It would scare your son to wake and find you toppling over of exhaustion." She was well aware of what her words held. An invitation. Yet she did not for a second think Henry would accept. Or at least, she thought he would retire to his own rooms and bed, or perhaps his Queen's.

But it seemed the King was bent on surprising her. Apparently no less than her own bed would do now that she had spoken the words. He rose, hand still holding hers, and Anne followed suit. As if her invitation had been all that he was waiting for, Henry's hands guided her, turning her back to him. Again she took a sharp breath, feeling his fingers play at drawing the strings that held her dress together. This close she could smell his scent. Fear burned in her stomach. Not actual dread, but a sort of apprehension that was no stranger to her. At a certain age, any woman began seeing the world differently. She bloomed into womanhood fully aware of the predatory stares of men. Anne's burden had been doubled by the natural shyness of her character. And now, as this man worked on the tightly wound laces that tied her in the dress, she felt the full effect of that alarm.

The corset loosened around her chest and middle, and quite suddenly strong fingers were biting into her shoulders through the thin chemise. Her arm instinctively crossed over her chest, holding the unbound, stiff article of clothing to herself, as if to erect a barrier between the two of them. Her fingers gripped a corner tightly, and she looked at Henry almost fearfully. She could taste the change in the air. She could feel it around her.

Lunging for her lips, Henry forced her hand away from her self-appointed armour with a wry smile. He wanted to hasten the process of disrobing her. Warm, soft lips yielded under his. She did not play games for she knew not how. She was receptive, responsive even, her mouth trying to follow the movements of his own. "Anna," he chocked out, voice heavy. "My Anna." Henry found it pleased him to coax her gently, to teach her.

On her lips those words had the flavour of treason. His Anna? Was she that; was she his in any capacity? He had thrown her away; discarded of her like she was worth not a moment of his time. Frustration and muted rage swelled within her breast. Yet she could not write off as unpleasant his fingers, greedily feeling along her spine. Every nook and cranny was deemed important enough to merit an inspection. Her mind could not keep up with the whirlwind of emotions when he kissed her so. Henry moved to her jaw and down her neck. Her own fears smothered her. His Anna, he had called her, though he had freed her of his own accord. "Heinrich," she whispered, lost, trying to somehow save the both of them from a terrible mistake. The words, like ashes in her mouth, rested unpleasantly upon her tongue. But he must have confused her distress for something else, for he merely gripped her by the hips and drew her to him. "Heinrich, please– "

There was something different about his embrace. Anne had thought she knew the man well enough, having shared his bed more than one time, yet it seemed she knew very little. A certain hardness to his body made her weak in the knees. She burned all over. Anne's fear grew with the feel of it – whatever it was – pressing just so against her. Perhaps she had taken ill too. A fever made her want to twist and turn away. She could not do this. His lips touched her shoulder and she whimpered, pathetically trying to extricate herself long enough to regain coherence. She was drowning in his touch and in his kisses.

The square cut of her chemise revealed the white flesh of her bosom, heaving with the exertion. He knew that at this point he could well take what he wanted of her, that she would bend and give in. Yet he had too much knowledge to mistake her skittish behaviour for anything other than it was. There was something on her mind; a reason for which despite the weakness in her knees, she would not allow herself to fall to him. The stiffness of her limbs was that which decided the matter for him. Henry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. This time he forced her back to him, redoing what he'd previously undone. His leg pained him, and as he would have no more of her, it lacked reason to keep her undressed. Henry would not have her unwilling.

Fingers curled inwards, nails biting into soft flesh. Cromwell had been right in his choice, damn him! He had seen the worth of her. Just like that lust bled away into anger. Like a keg of powder just waiting to explode, he took her by the elbows, his grip bruising. "Could you not be sweet to me when you were my wife?" he hissed, shaking her as if to wrench a reply. He burned by turns hot and cold, muddling everything, smudging lines wherever he found himself at.

Anne was not sure if she surprised by the ferocity, or by the fact that he had somehow twisted the whole affair to make it seem like she deserved to shoulder the blame for his unwillingness to bed her. He had gone and found himself a willowy creature with all the maturity of an infant to warm his mattress. How was she to blame in all that? She had been willing to lay under him and allow him to do his work. Anne swallowed the poisonous phrases crawling about between her teeth.

God in all His mercy must have taken pity on her and her troubles for the door opened with a bang, so unlike the King's quiet entrance had been. The Prince's uncle stood in the door, not even blinking at the sight before him. Anne had the decency to blush hotly and try to hide herself as best she could. Henry, though, looked unfazed. "What is it?" he asked harshly, giving the intruder a cool look.

"Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty. A letter has arrived. 'Tis about the Scottish King. He is dead."

And in the silence that followed, Anne took the greatest care to slip away from the King's grip and slide towards the doors leading to the outer room where her women could make right her appearance. Perhaps it would not help her much, but if she was to face the music when she returned, she wished to look every inch the 'beloved sister' that she was. She wondered, rather clinically, how long she could go on deluding herself into believing Henry would let her be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kathryn twirled around. She allowed her ladies to admire the dark green dress, and felt a surge of pride shooting through her. Joan handed her another necklace to try on, the solid gold chain cold against her skin. This kind of kisses were the ones she most liked, aside from Thomas Culpepper's that was. She herself admired the stones. Their colour was too dark for her taste. They looked liker her husband's eyes, perhaps they had been intended as a reminder. Kathryn was not likely to forget she was the Queen of England.

If only she could convince that shrew to show her proper respect. Not one to worry though, the young Queen smiled mischievously, thinking of all the orders she could give that would create unpleasant situations for Lady Mary. How dare she treat her like she was beneath her notice? Who was Queen and who was nothing but an illegitimate lady? So long as she had the King's ear, Kathryn promised herself, Lady Mary would not have a day's peace.

"Joan, bring me that fur there," she called to her long-time friend as Jane Boleyn manipulated her hair with golden pins and sweet-smelling flowers. "I must see him again," she whispered to Jane, fingers playing with a ruby ring. "Arrange it for me."

She might be forced to act as if she enjoyed the King's touch upon her body, but she would get her revenge little by little, with every night spent in the arms of her one true love. She would have her revenge on them all. "Where is my stepdaughter?" she asked haughtily, putting an emphasis on the title, as if it were the most laughable thing.

"She prays for the Prince," Jane answered stiffly. "Perhaps Your Majesty ought to follow her example. What would people say if they did not see you doing so?"

"I am the Queen! I do as I please." Kathryn rose to her feet, pushing Jane's hands away from her. "Shall we have something to eat, my ladies?"

How a woman could be so unconcerned about her precarious situation took Lady Boleyn by surprise. A sweet little fool indeed. She was hanging above the precipice, swinging her legs like she had no care, completely indifferent to the danger. The pity was she was likely to take some of her women with her over the damnable edge. Her imprudence would have them all facing the axmen. Jane schooled her features into a neutral expression.

The first whiff of trouble, and she would leave the Queen's services like it was a sinking ship. She had not survived four other disasters to be taken down now by a silly chit who didn't know heads from tails. In the meantime she would play coy, smile her smiles and bat her eyes and try not to chew her nails off when the two lovers fucked like beasts in heat.

"I shall do as I am bid," Jane finally gave in, taking care to throw a look to Joan for good measure. "I go now, Your Majesty."

Usually she was able to see trouble a mile away, pick up her skirts and run off, escaping unscathed, or at least no worse hurt than a few bruises – and those of the ego more than anything. Yet even with all her skills the devil on her trail would not let her be. There was something about this latest scheme of hers that would not let her walk away. Was it Thomas Culpepper? Jane was not foolish enough to believe anything other than that he was using her. As she was using him; to scratch an itch the absence of another human – of contact – produced.

But the little Queen, she was different. She actually loved the groom. Jane would laugh if she did not know the walls had ears. She wondered how the King would react if he knew. Surely it would be the scaffold. Perhaps it would pay to advise the Queen to a little precaution. It couldn't hurt anything at this point.

Anne Boleyn would have never acted as this relation of hers. In truth Anne had been a lady masquerading as a harlot for the King's pleasure; Kathryn was a wanton strumpet pretending to be a lady. It seemed that high birth and a pretty head could not make up for the lack of decency and decorum, both so lacking in Kathryn Howard as water in the desert. But this cavity of character could not be filled despite the best intentions of the King with all his gifts. The muck clung to that woman like a second skin.

Satisfied that she had poured all her venom out in a manner so entirely pleasing and not at all dangerous to herself, Lady Jane walked the corridors with as much care as she could muster. The guards did not sleep, unfortunately. She had to be careful of where her feet landed. Else there would be trouble of her own doing and not of the Queen's. And Jane had to say she was rather attached to her head, unlike Anne Boleyn. A light titter left her lips, but she thankfully covered it up with a hand to her mouth. Fate had been cruel to her, so she saw little reason to be anything but cruel to others. Why should they enjoy good fortune while she was left to waste away in the service of a ninny?

Culpepper's door was unlocked. She found his sitting by the window. "Master Culpepper," she called softly.

Attention drawn by the voice of the woman made him turn his head. "My lady." He did not smile, but he looked her up and down.

"Oh, stay those eyes," Jane told him harshly. "You look entirely too freely." Her dress, most becoming in its French fashion, had been made to attract looks.

"To what do I owe the honour of your company?" the groom asked, mouth twitching ever so slightly.

Closing in on him, Jane was of a mind to wipe that insolent smile off his face. She rushed forward bending to reach his mouth. A talented mouth when employed for anything other than speaking. But he thought too highly of himself, and Jane would not take it from him, any more than she had from her deceased husband. "Don't dig your own grave," she warned.

Thomas pulled back to look at her, eyes sparkling. "My lady, be careful of your words."

Obstinate and arrogant on top of it all, Jane thought, watching with some pleasure the wince he gave when her nails dug into his wrist. "Master Culpepper, your presence is required tonight."

Thinking himself victorious, he rose proudly from his chair, pushing Jane away as he advanced. "Then, lead the way." He gave her backside a fond pat, an intimate gesture sure enough, with faint undertones of lewdness to it.

Jane fumed at his daring. She wanted to hit him, but Kathryn would see the marks, and Culpepper would be the one she protected. She would not allow him to get the best of her, not under any circumstances. With a huff she stepped before him, gave him an ice-cold glare and marched on. He would follow.

Men were dogs. This was Jane's conclusion. How could she think any different when the English men gave her no other examples? Even Culpepper, who she had thought slightly better. He trailed after her like a hungry hound in search for a juicy piece of meat. A tender, young piece of meat. Jane did not hurry herself. She made sure the road was clear and every turn was safe to take. Every step closer to the chambers where the illicit affair would take place made her stomach turn over in revolt.

Meanwhile Culpepper had on his mind a golden lioness whose sharp claws and sharper teeth brought him only pleasure. He congratulated himself on having tamed the wild beast and making it come with a single crook of his finger. The mental pat on his shoulder almost put a smile on his face. But Thomas had better control of himself.

He would entertain the Queen, sing her pretty songs and take pleasure in knowing her heart was in the palm of his hand. He could lift it as high as he wished or crush it with a fist. This was power, true power over other human beings. At that he did smile.

The chamber door opened to admit him, the same way little Kathryn spread her legs, willingly, with a groan. Even now she waited for him, bathed in the moonlight, with a wicked smile upon her lips. The night was theirs. She was his. Culpepper drew her in his arms, ignoring the sound of the door closing. He had all he ever wanted.

"I love you," Kathryn breathed in his shoulder, fingers already fumbling with the ties of his breeches. "I have missed you so much." His lips sought hers, hands reaching to her back in order to liberate her from the constrictive corset of her dress.

"My sweet, little fool." He brushed his fingers through her locks, affectionately squeezing her to him. "My beautiful girl."

"I wish I could stay in your arms forever." Kathryn pulled on his doublet.

"As do I," Thomas confessed.

The lovers kissed once more, and spoke no more the language of civil human beings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Meredith had expected some sort of mishap. Ever since she had arrived to this foreign country she was beset by all sort of strange occurrences. How could a man that had pushed his wife aside visit her like they were the best of friends? How could her mistress accept it with such grace? Meredith had thought she'd seen it all when Anna allowed him to sleep a night in her bed. As her confidante and principal lady-in-waiting she was entitled to a certain level of knowledge. And she knew nothing untoward – more scandalous than sharing a bed anyway – had gone on between them. That was, the young woman was certain Anna had not slept with the King.

"My lady," she tried to console the sobbing Anna that had taken to sitting in her bed. "May I bring you anything?" She shook her head. Meredith took her hand. "Please, tell me what ails you."

The sobbing only seemed to intensify. Anna tried to speak but her throat could only produce dry heaves, perhaps too raw with sorrow for anything else. "I cannot."

"Is this because of your brother?" she questioned softly, patting her hand awkwardly. "You needn't worry, my lady. I shall send the man on his way as soon as he steps foot in your residence.

Again Anna denied the reason. "I'm drowning, Lady Meredith. I'm drowning." Her whimpering did not help with clarifying the situation for Meredith. Luckily enough, Anna was prepared to speak this time. "He blames me for the failure that was our marriage. But he left me. He left me! I waited for him; I was patient. And he threw me aside." Troubled hearts. "He said the French ambassador praised me, and the look in his eyes – I could have sworn the praise was his own too. I would have been content to remain as a sister to him."

But not happy. Meredith chose her next words carefully. "I think, my lady, that we should back to Hever Castle. Distance is a good remedy as any." She took her mistress' hair down, brushing the thick mane with comb and fingers. Had the King used her ill? Had he hurt her somehow? Even if it were true, Meredith knew she was powerless to do anything to stop it. "Do not make yourself upset, my lady. 'Tis all for the best."

Had God wanted them to be together, nothing could have stood in their way. Meredith helped Anna out of her dress, handing her a gown of solid colour and thick material. Anna had grown quiet, so she took a look at her mistress to see her sleeping. All for the best, she thought. The sooner she was out of the King's sight, the sooner she could mend whatever had been torn.

Slipping outside the handsome rooms, Meredith wrapped herself in a shawl and made her way towards the gardens. The moon provided enough light so long as she did not stray from the main path. There was a small chapel not a long way away. Meredith knew sleep would not come to her for some time, so she might as well make good use of her time.

She entered the house of the Lord with her head bowed, crossing herself on the way in. Her hair was unbound and uncovered, but Meredith thought God might forgive her that, provided she prayed hard enough. She did not think anyone else would be in this place at such an hour. Yet Meredith was swiftly proven wrong.

Now, as a lady of her mistress' she made it her business to know the courtiers at least by face if not by name. But the man that had invaded her sanctuary she knew by both. Charles Brandon, His Grace the Duke of Suffolk, was not a man women could afford to not be aware of. He sat in one of the front pews, his back to her, but she knew him nonetheless. On instinct, rather than on actual awareness of the danger and impropriety of her position, Meredith turned around to flee.

A more daring, courageous woman might have called him out on his behaviour and reputation, asking him to away, so she could have the privacy she required. But Meredith was neither of the two; she was cautious.

"You do not have to go, spirit, ghost, whatever you are," he broke the silence, making her freeze. He must have heard her feet hitting the stone floor when she had walked in. He turned his upper half to see who had entered and disturbed him.

"I fear I am much duller than an apparition, Your Grace." Meredith slunk in the shadows, hoping to find protection in the darkness. Perhaps the veil and the holiness of the place combined would protect her.

"Come on out, my lady. I shan't hurt you. On my honour." He made no move to lift himself from his place. Likely he didn't even know who she was, Meredith realised. He must have called her a lady by habit.

She had seen his properly at Christmas. That had been the first time she was anywhere near him. Meredith had been the last of Anna's ladies then, and she rather though he'd given little importance to them, being otherwise occupied. With a lighter heart she stepped out of her hiding spot. Her silk slippers crossed the floor until she stood somewhere to his left, but not near close enough for him to make a grab of her. She hoped he would forget the meeting come morning.

With that in mind, she offered a small curtsy before kneeling down and murmuring a prayer for only God to hear. Minutes trickled by. He did not say anything. Meredith lifted her head to furtively look his way. The most shocking thing was that he stared at her unabashed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Flushing to the roots of her brown hair, Meredith's look hardened into a glare. "Your Grace." She stood up.

"Who are you, my lady?" he asked softly, his voice holding nothing of the seduction forever attached to his name. Her inquisitive stare got her an explanation. "I needs must know your name, if I wish to find you in the day of light."

A smile touched her lips. "I am but a dream, Your Grace. A figment of your imagination." She would rather die than give him leave to seek her out.

Charles continued to eye the woman dressed in a light coloured gown. Even with the light of the moon illuminating them he could not make out the colour. But her features were clear enough. She was young, much younger than him. Not a tall woman, she might have been even smaller than his wife. Oh, but she was pretty, all the way from her dark hair to her tiny waist, down to the hem of her skirts.

Observing all of the above in a clinical manner, Suffolk wondered if the fire had gone out of him. Here he was with a beautiful woman, alone, deep in the night, and he simply asked for a name. "Tell me your name."

"You have no need of it, Your Grace." She knelt back to her earlier position, perhaps resolute on ignoring him. He must have lost his touch.

He would still be able to find her come morning. Charles rose to his feet and walked to her. He touched her shoulder, making the female startle. "It is best you say your prayers in daylight, lady. Come, I shall take you back."

Refusing him would have been foolish. The woman did not look foolish to him. She seemed shrewd. Her eyes narrowed at him, as she considered the proposition. Nodding once, she crossed herself again before climbing to her feet, aware she would be a bit safer – though not completely.

He must have read the worry in her face for he lifted his hands in a gesture meant to show he had no dishonest intentions towards her. "I have already sworn not to harm you." His eyes hardened at the thought that she might doubt the veracity of his oath.

"I believe you, Your Grace," she assured him, taking his proffered hand. Yet she held herself at as much distance as the position allowed.

They walked back together, neither saying a word to break the silence. Meredith could not seem to find her tongue, and Charles did not wish to frighten the poor woman more than she probably was. The sooner he got to his own rooms, the sooner he could sleep and forget about this encounter.

He allowed her to break away when the entrance came in sight, and she ran ahead, picking her skirts as she went. A flash of naked skin in the moonlight, and her hair flowing behind her, Charles stared after her for a moment, before he resumed his languid pace.

On the morrow he would find out who she was. He would know her name the next time they met, and hopefully she would grow less worried in his presence. He was no monster, after all, that maidens might run from him as if the very hounds of hell chased them.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Battle of the Mind

 

 

 

 

 

 

Henry's temper was not helped much by the short tumble with his wife. Kathryn had been vigorous as always, but when he closed his eyes curly blonde hair became straight and brown. Wide sky-blue eyes darkened until they became brown. So Henry worked atop his wife, thinking about the other woman whose knees had remained firmly shut. It did not take long to finish, with the image of Anna burning behind his closed eyes.

It drove him to distraction that he could not have her. He was the king; she was his subject. Christ's blood, she had trembled like a lamb headed for slaughter in his arms. But Henry could swear that at one point it hadn't been fear. Something had frightened her. And he wanted to know what it was.

Henry left Kathryn as he found her, sleeping in her bed, under the warm sheets. He stalked to his son's room and entered with a scowl upon his face, making the trembling physician even more concerned for his neck. Henry threw him a withering look as his Edward showed no signs of improvement.

He looked about the room, hoping that he might find someone he could stomach right now. Charles sat with his daughter Mary in a corner. They spoke softly, both seeming melancholy. They had risen when he entered, yet as he paid them no mind they set themselves back down. "Charles," Henry called, prompting his friend to look away from the lady. He motioned him over.

"Your Majesty," the other man said, bowing slightly. He stood close to the chair Henry had taken and waited to be instructed.

"I want you to do something for me, Your Grace." Henry lowered his voice so none might hear his request. "Find for me a solution to the following problem: King James is dead. The throne has passed to his newborn daughter. I still want them to pay for their insolence."

Nothing seemed to please him well enough. King James' death should have brought him satisfaction, yet he only felt frustration at being pulled away from Anna for a man he despised. For all he would not have forced himself upon her, Henry would have liked to have an answer from her. She had blushed in indignation at his question, Henry knew; perhaps rightly so. What surprised him was not the rage, but his reaction to the flash in her eyes. He had wanted to disregard every rule of propriety and have his way, convince her with charm, sweet words, use of authority, anything it took to make her his. What could have held her back? Had she some secret, something she would like to hide, someone she wanted to protect? The very though brought an icy stab of fury through his chest. She would not dare! Not when he had treated her so fine.

He waved Charles away beset by his black mood. The only solace he found was in his son's face and in the memory of Jane who had never done anything to anger him. God had taken her; but why hadn't He provided a proper replacement? Now he had a child for his Queen, and a true queen for his sister and he could do little but lament his choice. Yet as it was not in his habit to dwell of such failures, Henry set about to formulating a plan that might give him satisfaction.

Best of all would be to see his son restored. If God granted him that miracle, nothing else in the world could be wrong. He bent over to touch the boy's forehead and noted with some satisfaction that his temperature had gone down some. It was by far the most fortunate event of these past few days.

Henry did not know when sleep took him. Yet his dreams had been good. Whether they were of hunting or they concerned past days of glory, he couldn't say. What he remembered when he woke up was the happiness, and the feeling of wellness was doubled by the rush of joy that surged through him when he opened his eyes to see before him his son awake and smiling. The miracle of God!

Before he could become too absorbed with his joy, though, Henry checked the boy's forehead. The fever was gone. "My Lord, send for the Bishop of London," he called to Edward Seymour, the only one of his advisors in the room. "Tell him to prepare a special Mass in the Chapel Royal, to give thanks to God for my son." As an afterthought he added, "and for my wife." Although she hadn't been beside him, Henry took into consideration how graciously she'd dealt with his foul mood, how she amused him. Aye, let Anna keep her chastity, he would take Kathryn's love.

So, instead of showing compassion with this chance, he wrote the best that came to him of Kathryn, making it compulsory for all nobles in the vicinity to attend Mass. He knew very well that Anna would be there. Henry wanted to make it clear to her that her behaviour was not acceptable. Kathryn smiled his way at the Bishop's reading, unaware that the flattery was not so much for her virtues as for the punishment of another.

Like a child rapped on the knuckles for eating sweets before the main course, Anne's face pulled in a taut mask. Henry only managed to catch a glimpse of it, but even that small a reaction made him smile at Kathryn – it seemed most natural to direct the gesture her way – when in fact he took joy in his own triumph.

None noticed, nor indeed gave importance to the message slid into the King's chair. They were much too busy with their own thoughts or with taking in the Bishop's delivery of the Bible's message. Who could have knows that such a small piece of paper could cause the trouble it did?

For her own peace of mind, Anne prayed the King found happiness with his little wife, for she found an unpleasant taste filling her mouth at the sight of her. She wanted to scream at him that he was a fool. To accuse her of being inadequate was one matter, but to shame her so publicly was another, altogether more serious.

Hurt filled her chest; it burned and twisted inside her heart like venom. By her side, Lady Meredith discreetly caught her hand, knowing well enough the source of her mistress' sudden pallor. Anne crossed herself and knelt along with the others, but her thoughts were not on the holy words. She was not sure how much more she could stand the humiliation. It would have been better if he had cut off her head or sent her far away. If he had acted a beast all the time, she would have been free to hate him. As it was she could only summon resentment.

"We needn't return, my lady," Meredith let her know, linking her arm through hers. "I have made arrangements for our trunks to be sent back early this morning."

Thanking her for the thoughtfulness, Anne was happy yet knew she could not leave. She needed the King's accord. Much like a soldier before the battle, she squared her shoulders and waited for His Majesty to step outside. Little did she know that the King would not be the one she first spoke to. Some unholy spirit must have delighted in her pain, for the Queen came out the doors on her husband's arm and as soon as she saw Anne, a smile bloomed on her face. Yet it was not the sweet smile of a woman content with her position; it was a cruel smile, a victorious twist of lips, statement to her supreme triumph.

"Lady Anne," she greeted, her voice moulded into something cloying. "How good of you to come. I have missed you so." She left the King's arm to embrace her so-called sister. "Have you heard His Majesty's words?" she asked quietly in her ear, nails digging into Anne's flash through the sleeve of the dress. Despite the decent cover, Anne heard the malice.

"Indeed, I have," she replied, trying to keep a neutral look about her. "Your Majesties are most fortunate in the affection you bear to one another." Anne pulled herself away and bowed somewhat stiffly. "May I make a request of your gracious Majesty?" This she had addressed to the King who too had moved closer and kissed both her cheeks. The burn of his lips on her skin did not leave her even after he stepped back to level a curious look at her. Taking it as her cue, Anne inclined her head. "My heart is gladdened by our Prince's recovery. I felicitate Your Majesties and wish you only the best. Yet I must away, for I have left business unattended. Have I your leave?"

Something like disbelief cracked Henry's jovial mask at her request. "My Lady Anne," he said, "I am sure your business can wait awhile longer. Nay, I should like you to stay with us."

Her request denied, Anne fought the tears threatening to escape. "As Your Majesty says." She bowed and retreated back into the crowd, shaking her head lightly at Meredith's inquisitive looks. "We stay, Lady Meredith. Have our trunks left?"

"I have left two of them behind, full of dresses and such." So she had thought of this other possibility. "My lady?"

Anne wondered why Meredith was so eager to return to Hever. Her lady-in-waiting had been more skittish these past few hours than the whole of two weeks it took her to accommodate to Anne's court. But in the end her own problems turned her mind from the subject. Should Meredith feel she needed her support, Anne knew the other woman would speak.

"My lady," a squire greeted her dispassionately. He helped her into the saddle, but kept the reins to himself. Anne reached out her hand for them, yet the squire went to work on the buckles. "My lady, I have a message for you."

"For the love of God, boy, not here!" Anne hissed when she noticed the boy's hand going for the interior of his doublet. "Would you have the both of us accused of treason and taken to prison?" Her scolding made the youth blush and stammer out a negative reply. "Hand the message to my lady, Meredith. I assume you know her." She pulled the reins from his gloved hands and pressed her heel into the horse's flank, though it was a difficult task, seated sideways as she was. These English, they had no sense of danger. If all messengers were as foolish as that child it was little wonder the problems kept coming one after another.

"The King orders that the Lady Anne of Cleve ride by him and his Queen," one of the King's boys announced, gripping her mare by the bridle and guiding her to where the King awaited upon his own beast.

"Your Majesty," Anne said, steeling her voice. If she had to stay by his side upon pain of rousing his temper, she would. Yet Anne was determined not to have him derive pleasure from it. "You honour me."

Leaning in towards her, Henry prompted her to ride a little way ahead with him. "Anna, tell me truly, do you wish to leave me?" Blue eyes inspected her, unmoved by the blanching of her face or by the slight parting of her lips. "I shall not condone it. You will leave when I say you may."

"My only wish is to please Your Majesty," Anne replied in a diplomatic manner, knowing well enough she might give no different answer if she held any love for her head.

"Good," he breathed in, barely grazing the folds of her dress with his leg. Anne felt it nonetheless by the looks of her. "Ah, the flowers are in bloom, my lady. Are they not lovely?" His lips spoke of flowers, yet his eyes stroked her face.

Craning her neck to get a better look at the blooms, Anne could not help but agree. The flowers were lovely. Such colours and fragrance. At least she would have such small pleasures, though her heart would have to bleed a little for them. Anne contemplated the beauty of nature longer than she normally would have, just so she would not be obliged to speak again. She feared her mouth would betray her.

Henry, in the meantime, sought in his mind a way to convince the woman that she had nothing to fear of him. "Lord Herford tells me you have been very solicitous – the soul of goodness even – when my son was ill. He says you cared for him yourself."

"My Lord Hertford is too good." Anne clutched the reins of her horse them. "I did what I could to bring our Prince some comfort."

His Queen had taken to her rooms, and kept away from the small sick child, when she could have at least come and see him once. Miraculously enough, when he was well again, she could not seem to spend enough time in his presence. "Still, I wish to show my appreciation, my Anna." The words were for her ears only. Anna was a private name, so Henry uttered it only in such close proximity that others might not hear.

"It is enough for me that Prince Edward is happy and healthy," Anne said with some finality. For, if Henry really did want to praise her, he would best allow her leave to return where she was at home. He would not though, she knew.

"How fare your hounds, Anna?" he suddenly asked, knowing it would please her. They had been a gift to Kathryn, but his Queen saw fit to accept jewels and dresses, and give the two pups to Anne instead. It was also a way employed to ease the mood.

"Oh, there are just marvellous, Your Majesty. I did not know pets could be so affectionate." Anne went on to tell him of a very amusing instance involving the two dogs, a stable boy, some hay and one cowardly horse. "I really though he broke his leg, but the stable master assured me there was no such fracture."

Laughing in good-humour, Henry almost forgot the reason for which he had earlier wished to give her some form of chastisement. "I vow yours is one of the liveliest of minds, my lady." He would have been sorry to see her go had he granted her permission. As it was he would not be able to see her too much. Matters of state would keep him busy for some time to come, and affairs of the heart would pull him another way altogether.

But the King knew not that his misfortunes were far from over. A message containing information of a delicate nature had been given to him, and its content held the fate of England within.

The party rode on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I have found you at last, little spirit," Charles called to the lady lying in the grass. It was the red colour of her dress that had attracted him. Then he'd seen the dark straightness of her hair, a cascade spilling across small, rounded shoulders. Somehow, he did not know how to explain it, he knew it was her. The lady from the chapel.

She made a sound of surprise, the pitch of her voice shifting higher. The mysterious lady turned around, fingers curling around a piece of paper which she tried to hide from his sight. She looked even younger in the light of day. Dark eyes stared at him with something akin to fright, yet he perceived this fear stemmed not from a danger he represented but rather from the danger of him seeing whatever it was she held. Charles rather suspected that it was a lover's message, and that she thought he could chastise her. She could not have been long at the English court then. No wonder he hadn't seen her before.

"Your Grace," she rose with all the dignity she could master, falling into an awkward curtsy. "I am no spirit." And in those words he saw much of their previous meeting. The lady refused to meet his stare, keeping her head firmly bent.

"That you are not," he admitted, taking quick steps towards her. He stopped just before her, reaching a hand out. "If I were to touch you, I would find flesh and bone, would I not? Will you disappear again?"

"Nay, I have not that gift, my Lord Suffolk. Yet I shall take roots here and became a sort of tree much taller than Daphne's laurel. And you shall not find even Apollo's consolation of having a branch." Slowly, gently, she pushed his hand away. "I am not like your English ladies."

The harshness of her statement and the look of determination about her made it all sound rather bleak. "Then I shall follow the example of a god more suited for my purpose." In retaliation for her handling of him, Charles took her by the wrist. Yet he was in no way aggressive. "But perhaps, my lady, you hold a certain fondness for the shadows." He manipulated her wrist in such a way that her fingers lost their grip on the piece of paper she carried, and it found its way into his own hand.

The implications were not lost on her. "I see no chariot of black wood, nor do I see the black stallions," she rebuked. "That message is not for your eyes."

_A storm is fast approaching. I counsel patience and sweetness of temper along with compliance. The reward for such conduct will surely not fail to bring pleasure. – A most devout servant_

"You will tell me what the meaning of this is," Charles ordered, twirling the paper strip around his fingers. "Come, little spirit. Have you lost your tongue?"

"I know nothing, Your Grace." Her denial of involvement earned her a raised eyebrow. "I do solemnly swear that I have no knowledge to the subject of this."

"I should know better than to believe you, lady. I have no name, how may I judge the worth of your claim if I do not know who you are." Now he'd caught her. Charles gave himself a mental pat on the back.

Seeing that his trap had snapped shut around her, the lady's eyes narrowed in a glare. "Meredith La Marck, of no official capacity but that of my Lady of Cleve's companion."

"Are you related to the Lady Anne?" The same house, features varying in size but not in colour, yet close enough so that they might have been sisters.

"Distantly," Lady Meredith replied curtly. "I have given you the answers you sought, Your Grace. I request my hand back. And my message."

Charles released her wrist to take her by the shoulders. He looked deeply into her eyes, and searched for something in her gaze. Meredith knew not what, but she made herself soft, thinking that so his grip might lax, and she would have an opportunity to escape. But his plans seemed to be of another kind.

"This storm," he said, brushing away a strand of hair, "should it break over your head, come to me."

"Why?" He owed her nothing. Meredith was distrustful of his offer. She took the paper.

"Must there be a reason?" He would still not release her.

"There is always a reason," she claimed frostily, pulling herself away with as much force as she had. "Your Grace."

Taking her face in his hands, Charles brought his lips to her forehead in the lightest of touches he had bestowed upon a woman. He himself was unsure of how he looked to her. She was young and desperately innocent, but a quick wit and quiet lovely in a way that appealed to him. She allowed him his victory for a few moments before pushing at his chest. Thinking better of it, the Duke claimed her mouth this time, for which he received a powerful hit to the middle of his chest.

"I am not like your English ladies!" she spat at him, eyes ablaze.

"You are not," Charles laughed, privately admitting to himself that for a slight thing such as she, her hit had been quite strong. "Go on then, be about your business."

Her jaw clenched at the order, yet she could do nothing but obey him as he outranked her. "Your Grace."

Once more his eyes followed the quick gait of the woman. Her face might have suggested youth, but despite the innocence, he saw in her some assurance of her own ability. Not entirely certain of how the situation might develop, he decided he would wait for her to make the next step. He'd initiated, it was for her to respond as she saw fit.

Should she wish it of him he would play her Apollo, yet he would rather be her Hades, and she his Persephone. At least in that way he would get to keep her to himself awhile, even if just a short while. He thought of his wife suddenly. Catherine who would not grace him with her presence, Catherine who would not consent to sit alone with him in a room. Catherine whose anger and resentment had made her older than she ought to be. And then his mind flittered back to Lady Meredith. What was it that made men his age yearn for the attentions of such young women?

The liveliness of her drew him in. She looked as if one smile from her could warm a man for a whole winter. She did not seem to break easily, nor did she cower in his shadow. Yet she treaded with wisdom. He liked that, the fact that she was not so good as to lose her own neck for another, but that at the same time, in any situation she guided herself by her principles.

The Lady Anne of Cleves had found herself the best of companions it seemed. Her luck would not run out, Charles trusted. It seemed strange to him that all of a sudden what the King had rejected he now seemed to treasure. Only a fool would be blind to Henry's insistence that his former wife join him where he went. Had it not been the same for other Queens of his? He saw something he liked in another woman and abandoned them for what he perceived as the better offer. Yet Lady Anne had been his wife. Had he been blind to her charms then, or simply blinded by flashier ladies who offered a good time without the effort of building a sound foundation?

A safe distance away Meredith crossed herself over and over again, pleading to her Lord in Heaven for strength. She knew what she had felt for the man who took her first kiss, and it was not something a lady ought to feel. Was this the same curse that plagued her mistress? No wonder she had cried well into the night, until the break of dawn even. It really was no wonder. Meredith dared a glance behind her. She breathed more easily after making sure he hadn't followed.

She had been serious when she said she would not submit to his plans, whatever they were. She might be of lower rank than him, but that did not mean it was fine for him to try taking advantage of her. Meredith looked at the paper again, trying to make sense of it. Why would anyone have reason to send anything like this to Lady Anne?

Whatever would come would come, the woman finally decided. She would put her trust in her mistress and the fact that her decisions had proved to be beneficial up to the present time.

Meredith reached the main path, going eastwards. She was out of the shadows. And so it came that England was one step closer to disaster.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"What does this letter say?" Henry asked harshly, slamming the paper atop the wooden surface of the table.

Lord Hertford paced, coming towards him. "I thought Your Majesty has just read–" he began, worry setting in his eyes. It could not be good, for the King's face had become an impenetrable mask.

"I asked you to tell me what this letter says, my Lord Hertford." Henry's finger beat rhythmically against the flat top. He watched Edward read the letter, eyebrows knitting in horrified concentration, as if he could not quite believe what he was reading. He had found it twice as difficult to swallow the content – vile, despicable content. Kathryn would not do something like that.

Lord Hertford reproduced the content of the letter, breath shaking and eyes wavering. Occasionally he glanced over the top line of the paper to gauge the King's reaction. What he was reading was horrible. Even more so for the fact that he had been one of those who encouraged his sovereign to take her to wife. He had placed her in the King's bed. If the accusations proved to have any truth in them, his life was as good as forfeited. He was going to be sick.

He thought of his heavily pregnant wife. It was not only him that would suffer if the girl proved to be a rotten apple. She would drag all those associated with her in the mud. Edward tried to think of anything that might save him and his family. The king wasn't exactly knows for being merciful. And more than that, his decisions changed like the weather. He continued repeating the information the letter brought. God help them all.

Bleakly he remembered the blinding fury of finding his own former wife was nothing but a harlot. With his own father! Lord Hertford pushed the memory away. Such were women. He would not dwell on that. His attention was better employed in finding a viable solution for the present problem. Men with more power than he had lost their head for less. The image of a decapitated Cromwell came to mind. His stomach rolled with it. After all, Anne of Cleves had been surely pure when she became the King's wife. The strictness of her upbringing would permit nothing less.

Kathryn Howard's upbringing had been something of a different story. People called it unusual. Just how unusual? What could she have done to have this dirt thrown at her? Damn the woman. Damn him for being foolish, and not looking beyond her pretty face. Edward almost broke into a sweat by the time he had finished relying the letter.

As expected Henry ordered that the matter be thoroughly investigated. He also placed his Queen under a temporary captivity. Should the truth be not to his liking, Edward did not doubt Kathryn Howard would follow her cousin's example, yet he wondered if some of Anne Boleyn's grace would pass onto her. Knowing the little Queen, he could not be sure her conduct would be half as refined. Anne Boleyn had to her last moment acted the Queen she was.

Fear choked him. Depending on his findings, the King would act with the same abandon with which he had treated all other marital matters. He would do as he pleased, and his lords would be left to clean up the mess.

England needed a Queen. But what woman would agree to be the sixth wife of such a man? All of Europe was well aware of what happened to his queens. It would take a woman of great courage or incredibly little wit. Edward did not know which he preferred to be honest. England had had both, and none seemed to suit her. There were certain advantages to a woman who knew when not to push the King, yet a more docile wife – one that fulfilled his desire for another male child – was equally as good. If they managed to convince any woman to come to this court and wed this King.

His orders clear, Edward had nothing for it but to proceed. He would get to the bottom of this pot if it killed him. And should the Queen prove a strumpet he would strangle her with his own two hands. He would cut off her air, as terror cut off his now. She would not escape unpunished.

With these thoughts in mind, Edward stormed down the hall, leaving behind an angered King who was more than ready to pick up a sword himself and examine his wife.

Slumping back in his chair, Henry wondered not for the first time why it was that God saw fit to punish him so. Could he not have a worthy Queen? But in truth it was not so much about the Queen as it was about himself. It was about the effort and time he had poured into his relationship with her. After naming her perfect in every way in front of countless eyes, to besmirch the fruits of his judgement was unforgivable. He would show her no mercy. But Kathryn? Could she have done something so heinous?

Henry told himself that he ought to wait for evidence to be brought to him before her judged her. Yet the seed of doubt had been planted, and what was once wholesome affection altered for the worse. He wondered if he might ever look at her without suspecting her past folly, if she indeed have such behaviour to hide.

Unfortunately for Henry, his Kathryn had more than carnal knowledge of past partners to hide. Her worry was not for the past. It was for the present. To her Culpepper mattered. If the King found about their liaison they were both doomed.

Divine intervention rarely bothered with the problems of men. And in these matter humans were free to forge their own justice. Even more so when the guilty stood accused. Kathryn Howard had played her hand and she’d lost, in a truly spectacular fashion to be sure, yet it was surely no victory her love had brought her.

Supporting evidence pointed to misconduct. Henry though the sky had fallen on him when they named Culpepper the Queen's lover. He had liked the boy; Culpepper had reminded Henry of himself. He thought he could put his trust in that person. Yet it seemed his court was full of liars and incompetents. In such moments he regretted Cromwell's demise. That man might have actually been of real help in this situation.

He could not believe the things his lords told him. Kathryn, a harlot? Kathryn a loose young woman? The lover of his groom. His lips curled in disgust when he thought that while his son was sweating in his bed, halfway dead, the wretch was sleeping with another man. Hadn't he given her anything she could ever desire? Had he not been good to her? Fury took over him. Fisting in hands in the outer garment of silk and fur, Henry fought for control. He itched to spill blood. He itched to know every little detail. All her lovers, and all her lies. And he would break a bone for each one of those.

There was a certain violence in Henry's very nature. He was a man of action, rather than words. But now all the curses he knew crawled up his throat threatening to spill over. He wanted, desperately, to drive a sword through that woman's treacherous heart, to defile her like she had defiled his love. She'd destroyed his trust. No death could be painful enough for that spawn of the devil. The more he found out, the less he felt inclined to think upon memories of her. A poisonous smile, a toxic kiss. She had destroyed for him a marriage that might have brought England glory.

Henry's losses were the country's too. She had lied; she had placed in peril any child he might have gotten on her. If indeed it would have been his. The King thanked God now for the fact she carried nothing in her womb but the seed of her unfaithfulness. Her pain would be tenfold his, Henry promised himself. He would cut her head off and throw her corpse to the dogs. Let them have her. She deserved no better, that lustful creature. And another letter made it clear where the Queen's heart was.

Thoughts of vengeance filled his mind, as he took in the frightened and pitying glances his councillors furtively gave him. None of them was brave enough to face him as he made clear their blame in the matter. "This is your fault! How misfortunate am I to have so many ill-conditioned wives." His eyes stung, and his heart squeezed in his chest. It all seemed like some macabre jest – he half expected one of the lords to admitting it was not real. He wanted it to be unreal.

"I vow that any pleasure that wicked bitch got from her wantonness will be nothing – nothing – in comparison to the pain she is going to feel at the hand of my torturer!" He jumped from his seat, hand throwing everything it met on the table to the floor.

The clouds had finally gathered and thunder roared through the skies.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Fortune of One's Making

 

 

 

 

 

 

"The King has gone mad again," Lady Isabella whispered to Lady Beatrice. "You just wait. That girl shall lose her head, and he will be on the prowl for a new queen. Some other young, unfortunate dear."

Outside the wind howled. The two women stood by the window, in silent conversation. Their mistress did not permit them to speak about the King like they were. She would surely chastise them if she caught them. Isabella did not fancy that one jot.

"At least we are safe enough in Lady Anne's service. The King has eyes for none of us when he is with her," the other commented, twirling a lock of bright blonde hair around her fingers. "But do you not think the King might wish for Lady Anne back? She could be Queen again."

"Bite that tongue, and curb all such thoughts!" Isabella hissed. "Don't you know what happens to his queens?"

Thinking that her idea had not been one of the worse of such type, Beatrice shook her head lightly. "I shall ask Lena, for she is more amiable than you, and her voice is that much softer." The material of her dress swished as she walked to the small table where Lena and Meredith were playing a game of cards. "Tell me ladies, what are your thoughts on the latest development of our Queen's case?"

"The poor creature," Lena lamented with sad eyes and a pitying smile. Unlike her fellow companions she was tender-hearted and more likely to feel pain and sorrow at the demise of any enemy than pleasure for the victory. "It is a sorry affair, but I cannot help thinking her own lewd behaviour has attracted this"

"I do believe this is the worst I've ever heard you say of anyone, Lena," Meredith interrupted, a smirk fixed firmly on her face. "You must feel quite strongly about it."

"I am concerned," the redhead admitted, taking another card from the stack. "You have not been here long. The rain outside will be nothing to the bloodbath that is to follow. She should have just admitted to being pre-contracted."

"Would that have saved her neck?" Meredith asked curiously.

"Perhaps. Her marriage to the King would have been declared void and null, just like it had never existed." Lena put her cards down. "My head is in pain. I think I shall to bed to rest awhile."

"Lena! You cannot keep making excuses and leaving when I am about to win," Meredith chided. Yet Lena did go.

"She served under the little Queen before coming here," Isabella offered. "This must be a difficult time for her."

Not more difficult than their mistress'. Meredith brought the cards back together. "Will you go to see the Queen's last moments?"

Beatrice vehemently shook her head, but Isabella fell in thought. "I was there when they cut off Anne Boleyn's head." Morbid curiosity pushed her on. "I should like to find out how the cousins compare. Do you think Lady Anne might want to go too?"

"She is of a mind to do so," Meredith disclosed. "She said she would like to pray to God for the Queen's soul, since nothing may save her head form the axe." And likely the prayer would not save her soul either, the woman thought, not if what they said of her was true.

"His Majesty was very warm to our Lady Anne before this tragedy," Isabella noted. She knew that if anyone had information on that matter it would be Meredith.

Feeling herself prompted, Meredith arched an eyebrow at the two of them. "The King may be as warm as he likes, my ladies. And it is not our concern." She rose from the table and put the cards back in their original place. Oh, the implications!

"It is, if he decides Lady Anne should be queen again," Beatrice said. "You cannot deny you think the intention is there."

"I think nothing, Lady Beatrice," Meredith retorted. "If you will remember the King has put the crown on our lady's head once and found he did not like the picture of it. It is better that you do not presume to know his mind." What would it help to be Queen, when the queens of England could so easily be put aside or worse? "In any case, on this subject, I expect your lips to be sealed. We do not know where we stand, ladies."

The utterance brought terror on all the faces. Both Beatrice and Isabella fell silent at that threat. But if indeed Lady Anne returned as Queen they too would advance in position. Finding some comfort in that thought, Beatrice let out a sign. "I am sorry for her misfortunes, but God must punish her this wantonness. If she hadn't been an easy creature she might have lived a longer life."

A happier one too, Meredith decided. "Enough, Lady Beatrice. The poor wretch is to be pitied. No more words out of you or I will see that all your jewellery is returned where hence it came." Her mouth thinned in a rigid line. "See that such talk does not bother our mistress."

Lady Anne had almost collapsed when she'd heard the news of the Queen's impending execution. She had crossed herself and despite the message given to her by that unknown faithful servant, she could not quite believe it. She hadn't loved the girl by any stretch, yet her heart went out to her. She could well imagine her own fear at having displeased the King, and Anne had done nothing wrong. But Kathryn had sealed her own fate in ink. Foolish girl; did she not know it was best to love and be silent?

Why she would be so adamant to pray for the girl, Meredith could not tell, but if that was Anne's wish, she would not stand in her way. "Isabella, go and make sure Lena is fine. Beatrice, it is time we ate something. You may order them to bring the food."

"If our lady will take any," Beatrice murmured.

"She will," Meredith assured the other woman with a sharp nod.

Entering her mistress' chamber, Meredith found Anne praying at the foot of her bed. "My lady, I think God has heard as much as He wishes to on the subject of our Queen. You should rest now and eat something. I have sent Beatrice to bring back what she will."

A patterned handkerchief was strewn across a chair, the rose's petals, red and white stark against the black of the material. Meredith picked it up and stared at the model, fingers tracing the lines. Anne made the sign of the cross one last time and got up off her knees. She turned towards the table and poured herself a drink from the pitcher. "Lady Meredith, you should say a few words to God too."

"Forgive me, my lady, but I have none such word to offer for a woman of weak morals." Quite decided against asking for anything on the behalf of Kathryn Howard, Meredith sat down. "I offer her my pity as it is." Her thoughts were another matter, one which the wretch could not touch.

Sitting in companionable silence, Anne found her footing once more. She tried not to think of the fate of Henry's latest Queen. Nor could she think about her own actions without a twinge of regret. "It is too late to warn our guests off, is it?"

"Aye," Meredith replied. "But not too late to warn them of the nature of this danger. We may name the Duke a friend of the family, and Philip merely here to see his dear cousin. But, my lady, how can you be so sure that their presence would attract the King's wrath, should he know their original intention?"

"I do not know." Anne fiddled with a ring. "That is the problem, Lady Meredith. I no longer know how to proceed. Write the message for me, and see that it is delivered. I would not risk another conflict now." She waited for Meredith to pick up her quill and parchment before she decided how she wanted to phrase her warning. Though with the best of intentions, Anne was not sure she would succeed in her attempt to quell the problem. "There now, Lady Meredith, write as I tell you to."

For more than a couple of hours they searched for the best formulations. Anne did not wish to scare her guests, but she had to make them aware of the true nature of things in England. Her brother would likely have her properly chastised if he knew the danger she was exposing herself to. But as he did not, and Anne was under no watchful eye, she would do as she saw fit, and hope that God in all His mercy would protect her as He had done before. "Seal it with your own ring, Meredith. It will be safer like that." And so they proceeded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sky was not exactly dark, but the clouds had gathered, allowing very little light to breach the gray curtain they formed. Anne pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, shivering at the coolness of the air. She had been given a place next to the Bishop of London. Anne could only watch, horrified, as they brought the two condemned women. Her ladies were among the crowd, together with the Queen's former household. All had been dismissed as a result of her unnatural behaviour.

Jane Boleyn would be the first to be beheaded. They said she'd gone mad in prison, yet to Anne she looked docile enough. There were no hysterics, no pleas, just her unsure steps on the ground. She looked a sorry sight, one that would stir pity in the coldest of hearts. She looked about her, lost, probably startled by the tolling of the bell. The condemned Queen walked before her, garbed in a black dress, most unlike the lively colours she so loved.

Anne could barely keep her eyes on what followed. She heard Lady Jane's last words and saw her kneel, placing her neck on the block. She remembered, suddenly, the stories about Cromwell's execution, how it had taken five blows to cut his head off. The man had suffered needlessly. Tears filled her eyes as she saw the woman, meek as a lamb, close her eyes. The weapon dropped down agonizingly slow. A sob of both fright and pain left Anne's lips as the flesh ripped open and blood spilled on the wood, staining it red. The head rolled a few paces away, and it was wrapped by two of the Queen's former companions.

Kathryn, unlike many had feared, chose to follow her cousin's example. She would die with all the dignity that she hadn't possessed as Queen. Anne gave the girl a sad look, but Kathryn did not even glance her way. She stared at the blood with vacant eyes. Then she looked at the sky, perhaps asking for forgiveness one last time. After she stepped forth, standing before her people, for the first time dignified in posture and solemn as the occasion called for. People often changed when faced with their own mortality. Anne turned her eyes to the crowd. They had fallen silent.

"I have come here to die," she said loudly. "I die a Queen." Mute, the people stared at the young woman, as she braved them all with her presence and calmness. Yet she could not resist a parting quip. "But I would rather die the wife of Culpepper."

A murmur broke through the crowd, along with sobs. Anne's stomach rolled, turning itself inside out. Blood dripped onto the dainty neck of the Queen. It was a ghastly show. And only now did Anne realise she had owed it to Thomas Cromwell to be there when they took of his head. Yet at that time she had been too aggrieved and ashamed to do so. Salty water ran down her cheeks as the blow was delivered, severing the head clean off. Kathryn's death had been quick and relatively painless. Anne fought herself to keep from bursting into sobs.

The Bishop looked her way then, as did Edward Seymour. "My lady, allow me to escort you down," the Prince's uncle offered. He gave her his arm, taking care not to step into the blood that had leaked back to them.

"Thank you, my lord," Anne said quietly. She took the support he offered, and they climbed down the stairs. She hadn't taken more than two steps when her legs gave way and she found herself spiralling towards the ground.

Luckily for her, Edward's reflexes were quick to kick in. He caught her by the waist and hauled her up against him. "Bring me some wine," he yelled to one of his men. "My lady," he spoke to her trying to catch her attention. "My lady, are you conscious?"

"Aye, my lord," she replied. "Forgive me, I found myself overwhelmed." Letting go of his arm, Anne used her own two feet. Now that she had an idea of what it meant to displease the King, fright had burrowed itself deep within her bones. She accepted the drink they gave her, taking a few sips. "I heard that His Grace the Duke of Suffolk has left London."

"You have not heard wrong, my Lady Anne. He is away on the matter of tending to his estates." The sneer on Lord Hertford's face said something completely different.

The King's residence grew more solemn in air when she stepped over the threshold. Anne could not put out of her mind the violent image of the severed heads. Meredith had to help her out of her day dress, and into something more suited for mourning. She was silent for the longest time then. Frankly she did not know what to say.

"It was horrible, my lady," Meredith supplied, taking her hair down from its intricate plait. She brushed the long tresses skilfully and then twisted them in a simple plait, serviceable and plain. "It was horrible."

Horrible could not even begin to describe it. Anne dismissed Meredith and took to sitting by the window. Would she even be able to close her eyes? Could she sleep without those empty eyes haunting her from beyond the night's veil? It had started raining as if the sky itself shared in her sorrow. Anne tried to rein in her emotions. She had showed quite enough of them.

England's luck did not seem a good one. She wondered what would happen now. Anne did not believe for one second that Henry would remain unwed for long. Her traitorous heart quickened its beat at the thought. Something like hope and something akin to dread mixed inside of her.

On the one hand, she wished for her own story to reach a proper conclusion. On the other hand, she feared just what the ending would contain. Perhaps it was better to remain wondering. Kathryn's fate did not tempt her.

She neither heard the door creaking, nor felt the presence of another until a hand was laid upon her shoulder. She turned, shocked, to see to whom it belonged and was struck speechless as blue eyes bore into her own with an intensity that made a pain bloom in her chest. "Do you think me a monster?" he asked. "Am I cruel or callous in your eyes?"

"It was an impossible situation," she whispered. Anne did not know what comfort to offer the man. His wife, not yet cold, was dead by his own orders. "You were not there." Couldn't he face her for one last time?

Henry should not have been in her rooms, he knew. Kathryn's blood was freshly spilled and he was not in his right mind; likely he would leave more miserable than he'd come. But he could not help the longing for companionship. He needed this particular human being at the moment. "I wish to stay with you."

Opening her arms wide, Anne took him in with shaking hands. She could not bring herself to push the man away. Even knowing what he was capable of. The heart did not prove itself reasonable. And true to its unpredictable nature, her own heart accepted this man. Anne swallowed her disillusionment concerning affection and matrimony. Somehow she had hoped for another ending; she had hoped that by some miracle Henry would show mercy. Kathryn had been his Queen, after all, not some common criminal.

His scent enveloped her in a cloud, making everything else hazy. "Anna, it hurts," he admitted, placing her hand on his chest.

"The worst of breaks may yet be mended," she tried to comfort him. "It is not the end of all things, Your Majesty."

Henry touched two fingers to her cheek. He seemed to be preoccupied with the way the faint light from without touched her hair, making a halo of it. He looked at her as if seeing the woman for the first time. Without his mind's consent, he brought his arms around her and crushed her to his chest. Obediently, she followed where he pulled, not struggling against him. Yet she did not respond. Henry paid it no mind. His eyes stared at the storm raging outside. Rain had arrived as all London had known for the last few days.

"I do not want to be alone." His warm breath brushed against the tip of her ear. "I will surely go insane."

"Your Majesty, you do not have to be alone." Once more she found herself in a position in which she was somewhere between lover and confidant; not quite one, not the other either. A bit of both, to be truthful.

They both lay upon her bed, staring at nothing in particular. Anne could not look at him. She feared her mouth would speak before her brain might censor the words. But she felt the agony rolling off of him in waves. It hurt to be this close to a man in pain and yet unable to offer any kind of help. It was a trial in itself to feel her heart flutter at the thought of a man such as him touching her lovingly. Anne's problem was that ever since that wretched, ill-fated night in his arms, her mind and heart demanded two very different courses of action. Neither of which was safer than the other. Adding to which she lived in constant confusion, for her own feelings were strange to her. The situation proved that intentions and results were not always of the coinciding kind.

Ill-conditioned to be dancing to the tune that rang through the walls, Anne felt a heavy weight settling on her chest. It was not Henry's hand. Nor did it bother her that his fingers trailed the embroidery of her corset. Yet the atmosphere about was a fist wrapped tightly around her neck. It was almost as if the very air was being stolen from her lungs. Unlike the previous times, there was little sexual about Henry's touch. He seemed more interested in the presence of her next to him than in the shape hidden underneath the dress. And still, Anne couldn't help that light shiver he elicited.

The prayer in her mind came to a halt as his hand slowly pulled the skirts of her dress upwards. He did not look down to the skin he uncovered, but Anne's eyes wandered. She fidgeted uncomfortably as the hem neared her knees. "Henry." The warning in her voice did nothing to stop him. Dark material dragging over her flesh, Anne rose from her reclining position, twisting around. Her hand caught his. "Henry."

"I won't do anything." His good leg pressed between hers. As he still held her waist, she only need settle back down. His fingers crossed to her back, drawing lines and circles into her clothed form. Anne realised she was doing very little to either encourage the man, or to dissuade him. The solid reality of him all round her brought about that recurrent fear which had yet to leave her in the presence of this man.

As she was, it took her long to convince her hands there was little danger in touching him back. Anne was not daring, she simply threaded her fingers through his hair, combing gently, and one hand pressed against him chest. To push him away if need arose, or to feel his heart, she couldn't tell. But she allowed him to stay in her bed and eventually relaxed enough to fall asleep as he'd done.

Yet her dreams ran red with blood and terror. She tried to evade the illusion, but all that she managed to do was to fall deeper into it. A yell pierced the fog that had fallen over her mind. It was loud and high and something grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her so hard she thought it might rip her to pieces. Her eyes opened with a sudden flutter of her lashes, and she stared at the person halfway on top of her. Her breath came in short, ragged outbursts, as if she had run for miles and was in need of rest.

"Anna," Henry called to her, hand cupping her damp cheek. His thumb stroked over the skin near her lips. "It was just a night terror. It's gone now." She must have cried out or made some sharp noise that showed distress, for Henry bowed his forehead to touch hers in spite of the beads of sweat that clung to her still. "All is well." His lips moved inches away from her own. "You needn't be frightened-"

Relief, or some other emotion capable of inducting temporary insanity, made her arch to meet his mouth, stopping him mid-sentence. He did not hesitate to kiss her back, lips firm against hers. His tongue brushed along the seam of her lower lip, the manner insistent. Anne gasped in surprise, and that was all the chance Henry needed to venture beyond her lips. His tongue touched her slowly, experimentally. She responded to the best of her abilities, the game's rules yet unclear to her.

It felt very different from previous experiences. With him on top of her, Anne felt herself being pressed into the mattress. It was strange. It was exhilarating. He pulled her up to reach the laces at her back, and cursed at them being so tightly bound. Anne wondered if she ought to find it as amusing as she did. Yet he managed well without her interference. It was not difficult from there to peel the garment away from her. He groaned at the shift she wore under.

The stark white garment found itself lowered down her shoulders before Anne could utter even the slightest protest. Not that she could even think well enough when he attacked her neck, alternating between soft kisses, sucking and biting. The heel of her palm automatically went to her mouth to stifle the strange, embarrassing sounds she heard herself make.

But Henry, without even looking up from his work, took her wrist and pulled it down, teeth scraping against a sensitive spot. So Anne could only conclude that he was not bothered by the noises. His hand sneaked under the chemise bunched around her waist, grazing the skin of her inner thigh. That nearly made her jump. He did not touch her more than that, contenting himself with tugging on the chemise as his mouth found the top of one mound.

Gaining courage, Anne took to working on his shirt. Unfortunately for her, in order to divest him of the article, they had to separate. Bearing it stoically, Anne withdrew enough from him to rid himself of the top piece. Also he could better push her onto her back and drag away chemise and stockings too. But the time for games had passed. Henry had no more patience.

To say she was shocked would be a gross understatement. Oh, she had half-felt him that one time, thickening against her, but it certainly hadn't prepared her for the sight of the protruding member. It jutted out as if proud; straight and, to Anne, monstrously large. She had been warned at some point or another to expect pain. Little wonder they hadn't advised her to expect death. Rip her apart, it would.

Perhaps more understanding than he let on, Henry came to rest between her thighs and whispered comfortingly in her ear. "There will be some pain, my Anna. I cannot lie to you. Yet be assured that it is passing." She felt the firm flesh quiver against her, and she gasped loudly when his fingers touched her in a most intimate place, parting her gently.

It was with some relief that Henry found her aroused. It would be easier on her that way. Aligning his body in a proper position, Henry drew her up by the hips, pushing forwards. Naturally she resisted, muscles clamping down in order to stop his progress. But he persevered. It was a slow advance, but worth every agonizing inch forward. And then he stopped on his own. Henry peered at the woman under him with some surprise. Her barrier was very much intact and obstructing his progress. That was not to say he had not believed her when she declared herself a maiden. But maidenheads broke from horse riding and strenuous physical activity. Yet here they were. He had the undeniable proof of her purity. Dare he break her?

Fusing his lips to hers, Henry delivered the fatal blow to her virginity, tearing through the thin layer, to claim her. Anne's whole body went rigid under him and whatever pleasure she had found in his touch before, it all left her face. She grimaced and sobbed low. Henry waited for the pain to dull, distracting the woman with kisses and kind words. Eventually she relaxed once more, enough for him to continue.

There was little pleasure Anne found in the act. Henry seemed to be pleased. He kissed her brow and lips, and complimented her for things that made no sense. Anne tried to close her eyes and retreat somewhere in the back of her mind until it was all over, thinking that submissiveness would suit him all the same as her collaboration.

"Anna, look at me," Henry spoke from above her. Her eyes opened involuntarily, as a reaction to her name being mentioned. "I want you to look at me." Even with her gaze slightly unfocused, blurred by discomfort and the sting of the act she'd engaged in, Anne knew what it meant when his rhythm broke and the strokes of his hips became irregular. It would all be over soon. Once more he held her by the hips, and lifted her slightly.

Something hot surged through her, and it was perhaps the only pleasant part about the whole business. Anne waited patiently for him to withdraw, and sighed in secret relief once he did so. Her legs felt dead, and she was sore. That was not even counting the stickiness between her thighs which clung uncomfortably to her skin.

Quite different from her, Henry seemed more peaceful than ever. He rolled to his side, pulling her along and wrapped them both in a thick blanket. He murmured nonsense in her hair, sated and willing to play the gallant lover. He rubbed and stroked until the knots eased under the pressure and left behind a very tired Anne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fire in the hearth had dwindled throughout the night, leaving nothing but ash for the morning to find. Anne awoke feeling strangely warm, and still tender. She made to remove herself from the blankets and sit up in order to find something to wear, but to her surprise she felt an awfully familiar sensation. Something brushed against her leg, and Anne's face flushed violently.

"Easy," Henry soothed her, woken no doubt by her squirming. He did not set upon her, for which she was thankful. But he seemed to have something else in mind. Henry rose from his spot and pulled the covers away, eyes searching for something. He found it in the form of a crimson stain. Passion renewed, he tangled his fingers in Anne's long hair and guided his lips to hers.

Steering her to the position he wished her to assume, Henry brought her body flush against him. She sat atop him, astride, not quite sure what he expected of her. But he had no qualms about being a teacher to her in this matter.

Anne wasn't fairly certain if the second experience made her warm up any to the acts that went on between lovers, but she was gratified by the knowledge that she had managed to bring Henry pleasure. A small part of her triumphed at it for the sole reason that it went against everything he had thought her capable of. Another part, the bigger part, worried over the future already. What was she to him?

Very much aware that he had worn her out, and that her body was not used to him yet, Henry prayed silently that she would forgive him this ill-usage. But he could not help it. He desired her above any other woman. And she had accepted his touch. He kissed her hair, and regretfully abandoned her bed. "Try to sleep some more," he told her, gently brushing away a strand of hair.

The blot on the sheets, the knowledge that it had not been a trick of his own mind, had made her all the more desirable to him. She would rest and she would recover soon, and then, Henry would see to the progress of their affair. Obviously enough, he could not yet make her Queen – a betrothal would have to be put in place first, and that only after a proper period of time had passed from Kathryn's death. The very thought that he had to wait on that lying harlot brought the clouds above his head. Scheming fiend, faithless bitch. It would serve her memory right if he married Anne this very day.

Finally allowed an undisturbed moment of rest, Anne set herself to rights before she called for her women. There would be no doubt in their mind about what had transpired between their mistress and the King, but luckily they were decorous enough to keep from making any remark, or asking questions. Nay, they were content to adorn their lady in rich embellished brocade and fuss over her hair. She was glad for them in those moments of uncertainty.

Although Henry had left her rooms with a smile on his face after a moment of tenderness, he was not the most constant of beings. To hold his attentions was to play with fire, and Anne perceived that her game was far more dangerous this time around. The man had spilled his seed inside of her, she was positive. There was a chance she might conceive by him. If he chose to wed her and she produce another female, who was to say he would not find a way to be permanently rid of her.

Such bleak thoughts filled her mind as her hair was being dressed. Inexplicably she burst into tears, scaring half of her companions, and worrying the other two. They crowded around her, begging to be told of her burdens. "We are here for you, my lady. You need only speak the word and we shall do anything to please you."

But Anne was not taken in by their sweet tones or promises. The danger she faced loomed threateningly above her head. "What have I done?" Her own foolishness had landed her in a situation that, had she listened to her head, rather than her heart, would not have been in existence in the first place. "Oh, God! What am I to do now?" She had compromised her virtue, the only saving grace she could have hoped for.

"There, there, my lady," Meredith tried to placate her, "do not cry. God in all His goodness will see us through." She lied smoothly in that, trying to halt the fear that seemed to weight her mistress down. Whatever was done could not be changed. But they would live through it. "You shall make yourself ill," she told the older woman, patting her hand gently.

Soon enough Anne's tears had run dry, and she accepted the food presented to her, thought she ate sparingly. The days that followed were a trial in more than one way. The King sent jewels and precious gifts to Lady Anne, more so than before, yet he did not come to her again. Court was rife with rumours, suppositions and the most devious ideas that the human race could produce had spread about with all the quickness of an epidemic. It seemed that everyone knew something or another. They claimed the King planned to marry again soon. Some whispered that he had lost his wits. And some, like the Duke of Suffolk who had ran away, were totally absent. Such went one of the worst periods Anne had lived through all her years.

On the seventh day since her maidenly virtue had been lost, Anne was called before the King.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Fate Has its Say

 

 

 

 

 

 

_My most esteemed Lady,_

_I confess that it is bad form to be so forward towards a woman one has never rightly known, and I beg you forgive the impunity, but I must speak frankly. I am certain that you, dear Lady, will agree that sincerity is to be greatly appreciated when applied to interactions between us noble souls. But I shall not impose on you any longer than necessity requires. I have but few things I would like to write of._

_Firstly, allow me to express my deepest gratitude towards your graciousness. We have, the two of us, met a few years back. You were, as I recall, a lovely young woman, no doubt grown lovelier since. My recollection may not be complete, but I think we were amenable one to the other. Alas in you I detected no great desire to be wedded, and I have desisted in my attentions. I am since convinced my decision was not a wrong one._

_I thank you sincerely for the invitation you have extended me, and I shall claim some of your time. Yet I must warn you of the reasons for which I visit. As you read these lines, your face must be one of a woman thinking of trouble, but allow me to assure you, I have no intention to bring any unpleasantness. I feel, though, I must come to you an honourable man, and for that reason I confess to you, I love your sister most passionately. I pray you understand my meaning in coming to England and to you now. Nevertheless, I shall elaborate for the peace of mind of us both._

_The Duke, your brother, had proposed a marriage between our houses, and I saw no reason to refuse him, as I am in need of a wife. I was well-pleased with his suggestion that I wed you, since we are acquainted and you are a most pleasant companion, to the best of my knowledge. I was invited to the favourite estate of the Duke's so we might come to an agreement. Know now that I never planned to be so violently assaulted by my emotions as I was the moment I laid eyes upon your sister. I could fill pages just describing that moment, yet I shall refrain. But the truth remains, I find myself in a difficult position._

_I remember in your letter you have mentioned you were deeply sated in your current position. Might I beg you continue on so. Allow me to court you and send me on my way after, my lady, else my heart should be torn were you to accept the proposal I must make you. I shan't trouble you to reply. You are a most sensible woman, and I've no doubt you love your sister. Just take into account, my lady, that I love her as well, and she is most agreeable to me. I should like her for my wife. We rest our hopes in your tender hands, Amalia and I both._

_Yours,_

_Francis, the right Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg_

Her last letter hadn't reached him or her cousin, Anne realised. She bit back a few choice words in her native tongue. What was she to do? The King had shown her favour, yet it had been days since he'd called upon her. And then, as if hearing her silent vexations he sent for her, only for this letter to have timely arrived; reminder of danger. Henry would not care much for diplomacy. He would have all three of their heads mounted at the gates. Once more, she tried to soothe herself.

The matter was simply resolved if she thought about it in a rational manner, yet Anne was not quite capable of rational thought as her women searched through the jewels. She need not panic. When the Duke came she would pull him aside and warn him away, giving her blessings to the marriage he desired. But he came here to court her, which involved gifts. That would wake Henry's suspicions. "Oh, Meredith! What will I do?"

"Burn the letter for a start. They might have received the other one in the meantime. Look at the date on this," she pointed gently towards the inscribed bit of information. "It was written before your own."

"But he will be bringing me gifts. Shall I burn them as well?" That would not be met with approval. "And the Court will not keep quiet. You know how they are."

"They need not keep quiet, for there is no situation to be discussed. We shall claim the gifts are from your brother if you are asked. Who is to know any different?" She gave a hard stare towards the other ladies. They all nodded dutifully. "And the Duke might pretend an interest in one of us. We shall send him on his way with proper alacrity and more." She dabbed some scent on her mistress' neck. "For now seek to please the King, and think of nothing else. Let us worry for once."

Lady Beatrice handed her a white handkerchief. It had been scented with copious amounts of perfume in case she had need of it – and one did suppose she would if the King planned to hold her in his presence as he seemed happy to do of late. "You look lovely, my lady," Beatrice ventured softly, feeling a stirring of pity in her breast. "I know not how a man could look upon you and not want to lay his world at your feet."

"Ah, you flatter me, Lady Beatrice." Anne blushed and thanked her for the compliment a moment after. "Ladies, I shall have no further need of your assistance from here on. You may enjoy the rest of the day." They wouldn't, she was sure, but Anne did feel it was her duty to encourage it. Her ladies would probably spend the whole time worrying over her and preparing all sorts of trinkets to amuse her with when she came back. Anne put on a strong face for their benefit.

One of the King's boys conveyed her to the apartments that belonged to His Majesty. Anne looked about her with interest, but her heart thumped too loudly for her to be able to concentrate on much else other than breathing and moving her legs evenly so as not to break pace. She wondered if this was the feeling soldiers experienced when going into battle. God only knew what she would do once she was face to face with the man. Anne had a disturbing vision of herself fainting, or worse even, giving in to him once more and making a fool of herself.

She did not hear her name being announced; she only saw the doors opening and Henry waiting for her. And dash it all, her heart was lifted by the sight. "Your Majesty," she greeted in as even a voice as she could possibly muster, "I trust you are well this day."

"Tremendously better now that you are in residence, my lady," the King answered, not at all repentant for making her cheeks flush. He did enjoy the reactions he ferreted out of her. "Come, sit with me." His invitation would not have risen worry inside Anne's mind was it not for the cards on the table. Could a woman give more than her heart to a man? Would she be willing to?

Anne had learned in her short time as wife and mistress to this man that the hearts of males were infinitely more fickle than those of woman – or at least more fickle than the hearts of God-fearing, properly-behaved women. Yet she had lain with the man, even knowing his heart might turn away from her in the light of day. She supposed she ought to be thankful that his interest had not strayed. How queer it was to be thankful for what should have been a natural thing.

Had she not thought herself a match for the man, Anne would not have given him the opportunity to climb into her bed. Nay, she had made her choice, and she would have to live with it. Henry had taken more than her maidenhead, and he well knew it by the look in his eyes, almost tender, almost loving. Anne sat down in the place which he'd indicated.

"You look exquisite," he murmured against the skin of her hand as he took it to his mouth. Somehow, Anne was aware that her wardrobe was the last to come in his compliment. "Indeed, I don't think I've seen a lovelier sight this past week."

"Then perhaps Your Majesty hasn't been looking in the right places," Anne dared say, amazing even herself.

"I suppose not," he agreed absently, more taken with the sight of the inside of her wrist. His thumb stroked the skin there, brushing gently over her pulse point. Anne was not sure if she was supposed to find it as stimulating as she did. Probably not. "Then allow me to make up for the transgression."

Henry was not quite certain how long he might keep a firm control on his urges. She really was the loveliest sight in that moment. A week. Had it been that long? It must have. His body ached for hers. It was natural. All new lovers were beset by that craving at the beginning. A week seemed to them a century and the thought of not being able to touch the other a curse. He had long debated with himself if he should declare his feelings; ask for her hand again, despite the impropriety of it. But it would take too long. He should have just called the bishop to wed them and be done with it.

He thought about the delicious quiver of her thighs, remembered it really. She did not shiver violently, by any means, but he could feel the tremors coursing her body. She was aroused if nothing else. He wanted to kiss her. So he did. Henry pulled her face towards him, fusing their lips together. The world ceased to exist as he opened her mouth to his exploration. He did like that he could lose himself in her. But he wanted more, so much more.

"If I told you that you are a merciless woman for tempting me as you do, what would you say?" he asked against her lips.

"I don't-" she started but could hardly get anything out when he kissed her again. As far as silencing methods went, Anne found she liked it well enough. Yet she did have to defend herself somehow. She would have to think of something witty to say, but at the moment she could not quite get past the fog in her head. It was dreadful, but then again it wasn't. This part of lovemaking suited her just fine. Would it be so terrible if she gave in, just this once? Her arms wrapped around him invitingly. She was already despoiled. Nothing more could be done to her.

His hand slid up her leg, taking the voluminous skirts on its way. She could feel his fingers dragging across her skin. It was thrilling. She decided in that moment that putting up with his occasional foul moods was worth it, if only he was the man he was now every night. "Henry. Heinrich, I want-" She did not know what she wanted. To be set free, to crawl out of her skin which had grown too tight to fit her properly. To never be let go of. "Please."

But she did not need to tell him twice, for the King was as impatient as she, if not even more so. She would deal with the other problems as they came. She could not tear her mind away from this that they were doing long enough to form even one coherent thought. She liked it. Gold help her, but she liked his intimate touch upon her flesh. His lips on her neck and his fingers in her hair, she couldn't come up with one reason for which they should stop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You might conceive, you know?" Meredith asked Anne quite seriously. "What shall you do then, my lady?" To her mind it was not acceptable that a man should lie thus with a woman and not propose marriage, be he king or peasant. And she did not understand why her mistress had allowed it to get that far. "You should have denied him." Yet even as she said it, she knew it was impossible.

"You do not understand," Anne replied. "I know you do not, and I blame you not, my friend. Until you have felt what I have at the hands of a man, you shan't understand any better."

But Meredith did not want to understand. "It is too soon now to tell, but if your do not bleed, what shall you tell him? What if he does marry you and you give him a girl?"

"It is all in God's hands." Anne stood up and turned around. "You should give some serious thought to the proposal you've had," she advised. "You could be a lady here, have your own household, live in security."

"And be married to a man old enough to be my grandfather," Meredith sulked. "I cannot consider him, my lady."

"Advanced age might be a blessing, my dear." Anne did not think wrong in any way, but Meredith was repulsed at the very thought. "There was quite an age gap between His Majesty and myself. And it all worked out in the end."

Not quite, Meredith wanted to point out, but she refrained. Anne was happy. And that was what mattered. "He is French."

"That is hardly a good reason to refuse him," the other commented softly.

"Aye, but it's reason enough for me. If I have to share a bed with him I might take a knife to my throat," she cried in a quiet manner. It wouldn't do to wake the whole household. "He is rich, true, but he's lived this long and has buried no less than six wives. I won't be another grave."

"He might not last the journey back to France, you know?" Anne commiserated with her friend. "After all, you are a young woman, and he doesn't exactly look like he'd hold together in a storm." He didn't even look like he might be able to do his duty by his wife.

Meredith considered those words. Her suitor was a man who had fallen quite unexpectedly in her life. Meredith had just been getting over the incident with Lord Suffolk when the Frenchman approached her with the proposition. Oh, he'd been crass, ogling her like one did horseflesh, but at the same time he was harmless – or relatively so, she was told. A few of the more daring ladies had tried their luck at capturing his fancy with all sorts of tricks, yet he seemed fixated on the one woman who had paid him no mind. How impolite of him. Meredith rather dreaded seeing the man again. She would have to give him her answer. What should she do? She would be well provided for, she would eventually be a rich widow, but all her years would be gone too. Though, widows had certain advantages. They could seek company; if they were discreet none would make a sound about it. She could find a more amiable partner after her husband's death. Many a widow found a new family.

"He does not intend to return to France right away. He said that if I chose to accept his suit, we would spend at least a couple more years here at His Majesty's Court." It would also keep her safe, this marriage. Surely she would no longer feel tormented by that kiss. "I shall think well about this."

Her mind was suddenly filled with the memory of it. It had been brief, not something out of a dream. It had scared her. It had frightened her because she hadn't wanted it to be over. That was not good. A woman was not supposed to think thus. She looked over at Anne. Anne practically glowed. Was that what lovemaking did to a woman? She could only wonder. Anne had told her little. And she hadn't asked. They were private creatures. If her mistress was happy, then Meredith would take the cue from her.

"That is all I wanted to hear," the elder announced. "You needn't accept if you do not wish it. This is your decision." She patted Meredith's hand gently. "But if you do decide to accept, know that I still want you as one of my ladies. If your husband can spare you, of course."

"Of course," Meredith parroted. He would spare her. By the time the next full moon rose, every man in England would know Anne to be the future Queen, Meredith was sure of it. None would refuse her anything. They wouldn't risk Henry's anger. And if the future Queen wanted to keep her ladies, then who were their husbands to gainsay her. With that she wouldn't even have to see her husband very often. How lucky for her. It could work. She liked that.

Charles Brandon would not trouble her farther, she would be her own woman and in the company of another she loved like her own sister. "Aye, it could work very well."

And yet that kiss seared her lips and stirred something positively animalistic in her blood. Neither praying, nor fasting had not exorcised the feeling. She could not seem to be rid of it. That kiss plagued her. The implication made her shiver. She had told him that she was not like the English ladies, but perhaps she hadn't known herself then. He had ruined her. How utterly silly, to be ruined by a mere brush of lips. Yet there she was.

"I shall tell him on the morrow that I accept his suit wholeheartedly," Meredith proclaimed. Better a wife with some pride than a mistress with no honour. And such she would be, the young woman swore to herself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Philipp cursed the day God gave him such a thoughtless cousin. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" he asked her angrily. Usually he was an even-tempered man, but no human being with a lick of sense would remain calm in a situation like this. "How could you do this? Amalia! What shall I tell your sister now?" Why was this woman so lacking in sense? "I should turn the whole party around and you over to your brother." That got her attention, which pleased Philipp endlessly.

Fear finally set in her eyes. "Oh, Philipp, please don't! Have mercy, please." Without having to think too long about it, Amalia threw herself at her cousin's feet. "I couldn't stay, I couldn't! I would have died. I would have perished. You must believe me!"

And believe her he did. Otherwise why would a young lady have to dress herself up as a man and follow her cousin and his guest all the way to England. "How did you hide from me all this time?" he asked, then thought better of it. "Nay, don't tell me. I might grow angrier." He could do little but take her with him and let her brother know she was safe when the opportunity presented itself. "Just explain to me what possessed you to do it."

"The devil," she answered succinctly with a grimace. It seemed that she only now realised the implications of her actions. They could still hush the whole matter if they proceeded carefully. "He wants an alliance with you, cousin."

“The devil indeed!" he spoke harshly. "That is why you left?" Incensed he took a step towards her, to shake her or worse; he couldn't tell. "And you thought to escape by running away and to me?" He would have to wed her. He would have to. "Amalia," Philipp sighed. "There will be no escaping it. What have you done?"

Of course he hadn't headed for England with the thought to marry anyone, for the only woman he desired was denied to him. Yet it would simply kill him to have to share his life with Amalia – she was a sweet girl, but not what he wanted in a wife. He wanted Mary, and if he could not have her, then he wanted to al least see her from afar.

"I won't marry you," Amalia protested, breaking the chain of his thought. At his crossed look, she simply huffed. "You see, I didn't exactly follow you," she confessed, a flush stealing over her cheeks. And that was when he knew it. There could be no doubt in Philipp's mind that he had gone and found himself an impossible situation to be entangled in.

"Amalia, tell me exactly why you have come with me, or so help me God, I'm sending you to your brother already bound." His patience had fled the premises it seemed. "Come on, girl, speak!" he ordered sternly. Heavens help her if she dared hide anything from him.

Seemingly aware that the time for folly had passed, Amalia took a seat at the table. "Do you not think we should wait for the arrival of our dear friend?"

Narrowing his eyes, Philipp nodded. He could not read the girl's face. And likely he did not want to know what she was thinking right now. It wouldn't do to leave Francis in the dark. At least he could trust the man to keep a tight lid on all information until the matter was resolved.

For her part Amalia was happy to much on a piece of bread she had been given. It was good, especially when one considered her meals had been few and scarce. Perhaps it hadn't been the best course, the one she'd taken, but she could not have permitted her brother to do as he liked without a fight. He had arranged Anna's marriage and her sister was now a divorcee. She did not want that for herself, and she was hoping her cousin would come to her way of seeing it once she explained the plan to him.

"Have you had nothing to eat?" Philipp drawled, staring at her as she devoured her bread. "Good Lord." He muttered something that might have been an insult, but Amalia was appeased when he ordered food.

"Hardly anything one would consider decent food," she answered. There was a spark in her eyes. "I thought I might have to beg for food at one point. But you found me before it came to that."

There were times – though they were few and far between as far as he could tell – when Philipp wanted to throttle his female relatives. Or at least give them a good, long lecture on the finer points of well thought-out actions. Right now was one of those times. "It's a good thing then, that I found you when I did." Beg. He almost snorted. Clearly she had no idea of the dangers she had exposed herself to. And Philipp did not plan to enlighten her, at least not in the foreseeable future. She would probably be unable to tell the danger if she was thrown in a wolf den. "You should thank me. It is the civil thing to do, you know?"

"I'm sure I shall get around to it at some point," Amalia conceded with what little grace she possessed at that moment. She wondered why the man she wanted to see was not coming. What could be taking him so long? "But just in case I forget, thank you, Philipp."

"You are most welcome," he replied mockingly. That earned him a glare and a scowl, not that he cared very much. "If you can find it in yourself to refrain from such actions in the future I would be very grateful to you."

"I shall think about it," she retaliated, not at all concerned with the strange look he gave her.

"Amalia! What is the meaning of this?" Finally, he was here. Amalia lifted her head, a smile illuminating her whole face.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. A Matter of Perspective

Meredith brushed her hair with the silver comb and looked absently in the small looking-glass that had been placed on the low stool. She then moved her gaze to the dress she was wearing, staring down the front. It was an entirely appropriate affair of dark colour and sturdy material. She had though long and hard about the proposal which had been made to her by the Frenchman. It was a matter of survival, she had convinced herself in the end. If one did not make small sacrifices, one could not be expected to survive. And Meredith dearly loved surviving.

Monsieur, she had decided to call her suitor. He was an old man and she did not think that any pleasure could be derived from his company, but he was also quite rich. She had heard it said that he had, in his home, more and many coffers filled with gold, which he displayed to his visitors. While she could not credit such gossip, Meredith knew he was indeed a man of means. All she had to do was close her eyes and endure him for however long he yet lived. Which, as dear Anna had pointed out, might not be long at all.

Once upon a time she might have balked at such a notion. At one time she had been a foolish young girl with dreams of love in her head. Like any other female, she was susceptible to that warm sensation that pooled inside of her whenever her fancy was struck by a comely lad. Her mother had taught her, though, that she was not to indulge in any of her fancies. She was to be someone's wife one day and she owed it to the man she'd be a bride to. One could not enter a marriage soiled, it was bad luck. Or so Meredith had been told time and time again.

But no longer. Meredith had felt the danger of depravity ghosting over her skin; she had lain in her bed, tossing and turning, not knowing what ailed her. Her very soul was in danger. And that she would not stand for. Whatever it took, Meredith would do. She would wipe her mind clean of the feel of Brandon's kiss and she would close herself to the thrill of his touch. Monsieur would be her husband and she would pray his best days were behind him. A cold bed was better than a bad of sin, after all.

Giving herself one last glance in the looking-glass, Meredith attempted to smile. She had little luck in that. Her lips were unwilling to offer anything resembling a genuine smile. Thinking to avoid any unpleasantness, Meredith schooled her features into a mask of neutrality. She took a deep breath and willed herself to be strong. She would do what must be done. It was her lot in life. God would see her through. She prayed, though, even as she walked down the hall, that God would indeed be watching over her as she faced the challenge of accepting Monsieur for her husband.

Her suitor awaited her in a wide room, his eyes drawn to an exquisite painting which depicted a scene from some war or another. Meredith was not familiar with the subject or with the artist. She cleared her throat lightly and he turned towards her, a broad smile on his lips. Meredith performed her curtsy.

"Good day, my lord," she greeted, arranging her skirts as she straightened her knees. "You wished to have words with me?"

"Indeed, my pretty girl," he replied. Monsieur nodded towards a vacant chair, his invitation clear. Meredith sat herself down and watched him, waiting for more words. "I must insist that you listen to my proposal one more time. You young chits like to make a man give chase, I know. Yet 'tis time to let yourself be caught."

"I am listening, my lord," Meredith offered in a dull voice. Revulsion coursed through her. Not an inch of her wished to listen to the vile man trap her in a marriage. Yet she could do no different. "I should like to hear the proposal."

"Ah, well." He gave her a strange look before clearing the excess of phlegm from his lungs, presumably. Sitting in his own chair, he faced her. Monsieur rubbed his hands together in what looked like a villainous attempt at deception. "I have been married before, you know?" She nodded dutifully. "I have had six wives and I have loved them all. They wanted for nothing. I trust you know that much, girl."

They had wanted for nothing except a long and happy life. Meredith bowed her head. "Aye, my lord."

"I have properties in France and in England, naturally. You may choose our residence should you accept my suit. I understood that you are quite attached to your mistress." Monsieur coughed. "I am fond of this English soil and I should not protest if we were to remain here for a few seasons yet."

Licking her lips, Meredith stood to her feet. "No more. I beg of you, my lord, speak no more. My mind is made up. I am ready to give an answer."

"And what is the answer you have prepared for me?" the man asked, climbing to his own frail feet. He looked ready to fall over, Meredith thought unkindly. She would have laughed if he had.

"I gladly accept your magnanimous proposal, my lord." And her fate was sealed with those words. Meredith took one calming breath before she repeated her earlier statement, fearing she hadn't spoken loud enough. "I shall become your wife, my lord."

"You make an old man happy," Monsieur replied. "Come, let me kiss your cheek and give you a trinket."

Obediently stepping over towards him, she prayed her horror did not show on her face. He wanted to kiss her. Monsieur might have been a tall man once, but age had bent him over and he was a crooked little thing, almost al tall as her at the moment. Meredith accepted the ring slid on her finger, eyeing the workmanship with as little criticism as she could. It was a lovely piece, yet she could not bring herself to be anything but disgusted with it.

The fruit of her work, she thought grimly, bending her head, expecting to feel thin dry lips against her own. She was not disappointed. A moment later, she felt pressure against her mouth and the warm breath of her husband-to-be assaulted her nostrils. Like most old persons, his breath sported an acrid smell that rather made her want to gag. Meredith held back the desire to suggest to him some mint leaves. She ought to be glad. Her soul was saved.

As soon as she was able to rid herself of the exuberant oaf, Meredith fled to the safe heaven of her rooms. She lied on bed and contemplated the bleak future before her. It was the duty of every woman to wed and produce children. God had willed it thus. If she was not suited for motherhood, a cloister would be the only respectable place that would take her in. Meredith would not go to a monastery. She would bear the cross that had been thrown of her shoulder, and she would carry it with dignity. Willing away the tears that threatened to overtake her, the young woman abandoned her position of the bed. She might be tempted to fall asleep. And Anna might yet have need of her.

It was as if fate had conspired with the divine Creator, for a knock on the door pulled Meredith from her thoughts. Wiping her eyes in a hurry, so as to not appear as if she'd been crying, Meredith walked slowly towards the door and pulled it open.

To her horror, before her stood the very last man she wanted to see.

Her face grew red in colour and a wave of anger crashed into her. Barely able to contain her fury, Meredith spoke, "Your Grace, what are you doing here?"

Clad in the latest fashion, a paragon of the court, Charles Brandon swept her a bow. "I could stay away no longer," he said, eyeing her with barely concealed hunger. He took her hand, without asking for her consent, and drew it to his lips as he bowed over it.

Meredith tried to pull her hand away. It was too late though. He lifted confused eyes to her face and held her hand even higher. The ring on her finger stood testimony to the events of the morning. Meredith's lower lips quivered with the effort of keeping a calm façade. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she wondered on his whereabouts and had dreamt of seeing him once more.

"What is the meaning of this?" he questioned, inspecting the ring. His thumb stroked against the gold and the stones. "My lady, what is the meaning of this? A gift?"

"A betrothal gift." He released her hand as if her words had burned him. "I have accepted the ring along with a proposal of marriage." Her explanation was superfluous; it had merely been given to fill what looked like grave silence.

Unconsciously she stepped back, trying to avoid growing closer to the man who was stepping towards her, crossing her threshold. Charles regarded her with a curious gaze, his mouth set in a straight line. Meredith eyed him with distrust. Too late did the realisation come that he had invaded her most private place. Her tongue played against the ridge of her teeth as she contemplated throwing him out.

"Who is he?" Those had been his only words after many moments of heavy silence between them. Catching her by the arm, fingers pressing into her skin through the material of her dress, Charles shook her lightly, trying to get a reply out of her as Meredith shook her head. "Tell me."

Never had she heard such desperation in another human being's voice. Never had she seen such haunted eyes as the ones that stared at her from the face of the Duke of Suffolk. Nevertheless, she could not tell him. It was simply not done.

Rallying all her remaining strength, the young woman shook off his hold. "Your Grace, it is unseemly to be in my rooms with me. I must insist that we step into the hall." She dearly hoped she had sounded convincing, for she did not want to leave the room. But she had to convince him.

Charles Brandon was not the man for her. He was wedded, and she would be too, very soon. In the meantime it was best to avoid him, though her heart cried out for him embrace. Meredith tried to move around him, but whatever she had gained was lost the moment he pulled her back into his arms and forced her lips under his.

Neither push, nor shove could save her. Meredith struggled in his hold, but his arms did not give way. It was such a different experience from the disgusting act she had endured a little while before. Soft lips pushed against hers, their hunger a living, breathing thing. Sharp teeth scraped against her lower lip and she gave a soft moan.

The opening was enough for Charles to touch his tongue to hers. He made an odd sucking motion which sent Meredith's pulse into a flurry. Not that it had been calm in the least before.

He was warm and real and so very impressive. It was odd that such a man could be striking in such a fashion. Charles Brandon was not a saint. He was the sort of fickle man she had been warned about. And yet, as his mouth moved against hers, and her bones melted, leaving her malleable matter in his hands, Meredith could not remember any single such warning.

There was nothing beside Charles and his kisses. The world had been reduced to just the two of them. She wished she could remain in the fantasy forever. Nothing in the world outside the door compared. Nothing could possibly come close.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Francis had been nothing short of horrified to see the love of his life in a ragged old dress, with tumbled curls and dirt streaked across her cheek, sitting at a table with Philipp. Nausea had crawled inside of him like the cursed hand of Lucifer. A fist had curled itself around his heart and squeezed, pain erupting in his chest.

What had happened? Why was she on the road alone? How in the name of the Holy Father had she been allowed to leave her brother's home, and without a proper escort to watch over her on the dangerous road?

He might have spilled out all these questions as Amalia took his hand in hers and Philipp glowered from his place. He might have gathered her in his arms, wanting to make sure she was unharmed. He might have even fondly swept back an errant curl. Yet one thing he knew for sure, Amalia could not be returned to her brother. It was not a matter of her being forced into a match she did not desire. Far from it. Her brother would likely beat her bloody and put her out on the steps, leaving her prey to whatever ruffians passed by.

Furthermore, she had followed them, which meant she was in need of protection. Francis sat down on the low bench. Some decisions would have to be reached. Amalia sat on his right and Phillip sat across from them. He looked ready to spill blood, though if the blood would be his or Amalia's, Francis could not tell.

"This cannot be borne," the young nobleman complained. "Wilhelm has undoubtedly sent a search party out for you. Someone is bound to have taken notice of you."

"Dressed as such?" Amalia questioned, forcing all eyes on her dress. She pulled a face. "I think not." Then she returned her attention to the food in front of her. "Wilhelm is not smart enough to figure out that I have left. At least not until the morrow is upon us."

"Still, you cannot travel with us like this. Something must be done," Francis agreed with Philipp's earlier sentiment.

"Whyever not?" the young woman laughed. "I can travel perfectly well, you know. I have come all the way to this place, have I not?"

Not having the heart to tell her the journey had been relatively easy up to that point, Francis patted her arm gently. "A woman of noble rank does not travel freely with men, be they know to her. It is not appropriate."

"This leaves us with only one solution," Philipp determined. He stood to his feet. "You shall have to wed her, as soon as we cross into English territory."

"I am visiting under the guise of courting her sister," he offered in a weak protest. "If I come a married man, surely Lady Anna will be offended. I cannot in good conscience shame her."

"We shall simply not make the marriage known then." And that was agreed upon by all. Rather enthusiastically too, if one considered the plan had certain weak points they had not dared consider.

They somehow managed to find another room for Amalia, though she was to share with a widow, a woman as coarse as she was hideous. Since the situation forced them, both the men agreed that it was to be endured for one night after which they would remove the young woman from the presence of the hag.

Amalia herself was very pleased with how the situation had progressed. She would be married, as she had wanted. And she would have a husband she loved with all her heart. Philipp had not allowed them a moment of privacy though, which somewhat annoyed her. However, she was persuaded to forgive her cousin on account of the shock she had given him, appearing out of nowhere before his eyes.

There was still some intent to cause harm in Philipp's gaze, but he somehow managed to hold back. Amalia was a silly young woman, to be sure. Even if he trashed her to within an inch of her life, she would stubbornly hold on to her convictions. There was no teaching her a lesson, unfortunately. Without the beneficial influence of her older sisters, she was quite lost. Perhaps it would do her good to see Anna once again.

There only remained Wilhelm to be worried about. The situation would have to be explained to the man at some point. However, Philipp did not plan to send even one word before they were safely in England. Who knew what the man would do if he caught them before that. Shaking the thought away, the young man gave one last warning look to Amalia and obliged her to give her word that she would not attempt anything foolish. He was even tempted to make her a list of what was considered foolish behaviour, just in case their definitions of the word were not the same.

Apparently appeased, Amalia trudged into the room that had been assigned to her. She had not been overjoyed at the prospect of having to bed down with the old woman. Yet she had risked far more by coming on the journey. She was in no danger. With that thought, she lifted a part of the covers on the bed and hurried under them. Neglecting to bring anything else but the dress of her, she had to sleep wearing that. Her only complain was that her skin itched from the rough material. She sighed and very nearly closed her eyes, forcing her mind into silence. Soon, she would have everything she had dreamed of.

For his part, Francis prayed they would all survive the journey. It was to be hoped that they found a priest obliging enough to wed him and Amalia without too many questions. Of course, Wilhelm could still refuse to recognise the validity of their vows even if a priest did perform the ceremony. However, Francis could not imagine not trying. The worst Amalia's brother could do was refuse to give them her dowry. And that he could certainly do without, Francis decided in a moment of overflowing emotion. Amalia's love was the most precious of his possessions, after all.

The new day dawned unusually bright. The sun shone like never before, warm rays spilling past windows and over wooden boards. Francis felt the heat beneath his feet as soon as he placed them down. He stifled a yawn and left the bed, wondering if Amalia had woken up. Philipp slept on, obvious to the world around him. That was just as well, for Francis would not complain were he to have a few moments with Amalia.

For a brief moment he stopped to consider her actions. Others might have named her foolish for what she had done. But he was not one of them. Through the eyes of their lover he could find nothing but admiration for the brave young woman who had left behind her everything she had ever known to follow him. Philipp had chided her and he had promised retribution, but Francis could see on the man's face that he had no intention of carrying through with the plan. Amalia was under his care, after all. Nothing would touch the girl as long as he could protect her. Indeed, the world was a better place now that he had Amalia with him, Francis thought, smiling absently.

If luck was on their side, they would find a ship to cross the length of the sea and make their way into the country of King Henry the Eight. And there, Anna of Cleves would wait. Undoubtedly she would be pleased to see her young sister wedded and pleased beyond what words could say. For Francis did intend to make his bride happy as soon as a priest could be found; it was his duty as husband. Amalia would want for nothing, he promised himself.

His mind made up, Francis went about his morning routine, washing his face, combing his hair, and dressing himself, finishing by placing his cloak on his shoulders. He gave one more look towards the sleeping Philipp. He considered allowing the man more sleep, but he could not wait any longer. Thus, approaching slowly, Francis grabbed his companion's shoulder, shaking him lightly. It was time to make ready for the road.

"What?" the other man asked, his voice holding the last vestiges of sleep. "Is it morning?" Rubbing his eyes, Philipp left the comfort of his bed to glance out the window. He sighed and hurriedly dressed himself.

When they were both ready, the two men made their way into the hall, trying to decide who should go after Amalia. The proper thing to do was to allow Philipp to fetch her. But Francis wanted to be the one who woke her.

"I will not be moved," Philipp insisted, a mulish look crossing his features at that point. "Amalia is not to remain alone in your presence. Surely you know that."

Frankly, Francis did not much care. "I shall wed her. And very soon. There is no damage that can be done." His assurance did not seem to count. "Come, now, Philipp. At least hurry, won't you?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anne stood frozen at the table. She did not dare move. That was sure to upset her stomach even more and she did not believe she could stand for it. Having had her share of small illnesses, Anne had not been very worried when she had woken up with a mild headache. Her head had felt a bit odd, but that could simply mean she had slept in an inconvenient position.

At first she had been happy to attribute her indisposition to the weather outside. An English day through and through, to be sure. The sky was covered by clouds and it looked like it might rain. Her long stay in the land had inured her to such capricious changes where the weather was concerned. And rain, though it cut through her walks, did not despair her. But her head sometimes ached because of the gloomy weather.

Trying to shake the pain away, Anne had followed her usual routine. She had pushed the soft ache to the back of her mind, determined not to give it much attention. However, it persisted. Not only that, but her stomach joined in as well, rolling at the though of food.

The sight and smell of the breakfast has sent her bending over a bowl and heaving. There was little in her stomach, yet she had purged out all of it. One of her ladies has rubbed her back soothingly, asking if she had need of anything. Anne had asked for water and mint. It was a trick she had heard of back home. It was supposed to make her well, or at the very least chase away the vile taste in her mouth. Lady Beatrice had been the one to bring her what she'd requested. So, Anne had applied herself to chewing on the green leaves and cleansing herself the best she could.

Still the problem of food remained. She had been brought very good food and it seemed a pity to waste all the effort. Yet as soon as she entered that room once more and saw the table laid out, she felt her stomach squeeze in protest. Trying to smother the unease coursing through her, Anne sat down. She kept her seat and did not move an inch even as Lady Isabella filled her plate and placed it before her. If she put even a bit of those delicious looking morsels in her mouth, she would not be able to swallow it.

"My lady, you must eat something," soft-spoken Lena said. She sat right next to her in what was usually Meredith's place. "Here, try some of this." She indicated towards the pork.

"I am not hungry," Anne replied. She watched her companions' faces fall. They tried their best to convince her that she did need to eat. Anne, however, would not allow herself to be convinced. "I shall eat later. Enjoy your meal and come find me after you are done."

With that she stood up and fled back to her room. Perhaps she might find something to do, something to occupy herself with. If all else failed, she could contemplate the fate of her young favourite, Meredith.

It had been a long discussion between the two of them, what should be done in the case of the old Frenchman paying court to her companion. Meredith was a good woman. She was a woman whose mind was sound, she was kind and smart and patient. Has she had the good luck of catching the eye of a lord more to her taste, Anne was sure that Meredith would have jumped at the chance to marry.

As it was, the French nobleman stood as the assurance of a comfortable life. He was not a poor man. And likely as not, he would soon find his way into the grave. Still, Anne had to acknowledge that the thought of being wife to such a man put her ill at ease. Even Henry was quite advanced in age when compared to herself. And him she loved. It was very different when a woman loved a man. Two strangers wedding and bedding down together did not mean that two people were married in their hearts. Anne knew that much even though all else was strange to her where matters of the heart were concerned. She sighed and sat down in a padded chair.

In the beginning she had felt only apprehension and disgust where Henry was concerned. He had not been much different, she was certain. Perhaps it had been the loneliness that had pushed her in his arms. Or mayhap her silly heart had taken a leap without asking for the permission of her head. Whatever the case, Anne knew she was stuck, her heart in the hands of the man. He could crush it, or he could cherish it. To love was to be powerless and powerful at the same time. It was strange, and quite unexpected, but not unwelcomed by anyone's measure. Still, even if love with him, Anne could recognise that Henry was volatile in nature and quite dangerous to anyone who dared get too close. When one dealt with roses, one had to watch out for the thorns. And the King had many barbs in which one could cut one's self.

Once blood gushed from the wound, poison would settle in and work its way slowly towards the heart. It had been the fate of Thomas Cromwell and anyone else who had stepped on the tail end of the snake that was the English court. Anne did not have the smallest doubt that she too could fall at any time if she was foolish enough to think herself above these games played in sumptuous settings.

The fact that Henry considered her his lover would not protect her. It had been demonstrated time and time again that the King's love was selfish to its very core. The subjects of his affection had to reward him with a love as strong as his or even stronger for them to keep their head. More than that, they had to act according to the King's thoughts and wishes.

And mostly, as a wife, a queen needed to produce a male heir.

Back to Meredith's problem though, Anne did think she was safest as the wife of the old nobleman. He would be a presence barely felt in her life, and she would have all the benefits that came with being his wife. A steady income and many properties, of which a few might even be deeded to her, should she please her husband, were at her disposal. And they would remain so, for as long as she was the man's wife. It was a good bargain, as far as bargains went.

Of course, any woman hoped to marry for love. It was a dream that every maiden had had at least once. Alas, there were not enough heroes of tales to go around. What one might have was an understanding husband or an attentive lover. It was to be hoped that they were one and the same; if not, discretion was needed. That was what Anne had been taught at court. Playing by the rules established within their circle meant that society could ensure one's comfort and even happiness, if one bothered to follow those indications.

It was not a perfect world. But it was the world they had. Anne had said as much to Meredith. She was uncertain what made her friend so skittish. If it was a man, then it had to be a man that had never been heard of to bring Meredith in such a state. In which case, Anne could only advise her close companion to gather her strength and accept the proposal which had been made to her. A man that was unattainable was best left alone and forgotten, locked away in some dark corner of her mind. He would only cause her pain otherwise.

In fact, there was no doubt in Anne's mind that Meredith would accept. Though she did not like the man, the practicality of the match had not been lost on her. It was perhaps time to let go of dream of youth and settle into harsh reality.

Both she and Meredith had come simple girls into the English court. They had been forced to grow and adapt, and it remained at the discretion of each of them if they learned from past experiences or nor. Anne would like to think that both of them would eventually find some joy, even if a brief one. Whatever else they did, God owed them at least that much, for all the suffering they had gone through.

On that note, Anne had to end her string of thought for fear of offending the highest authority in existence. It would never do to command the Lord of Heaven, she thought. As to her conviction that she deserved joy, Anne would stand by that. She knew her own worth, if nothing else.

Meredith too would find out her worth and in the end she was also bound to discover contentment, if not pleasure in the life she lived. It was the destiny of all living beings. It would be theirs too.

Lady Isabella was the first to be done with her meal and come to Anne's side. She was followed by Lady Lena and then Lady Beatrice. They all took turns fussing over her and making sure there was nothing else she might need to make herself comfortable. Their attention, Anne liked well enough. And her women were more than happy to indulge her. She had to wonder what her fate would have been had she been all alone and friendless. It was a daunting thought and one that Anne tried to put away from her mind as soon as she could.

Everyone found something to do, whether they embroidered or played cards. They built a pleasant atmosphere, relaxed and quite useful in settling Anne's mood. None of them mentioned the upset stomach and the lack of appetite exhibited by their mistress, though everyone, Anne included, had their suspicions as to what the source of her ailment was.

When one lived among courtiers, it was impossible to escape the occasional ailment that plagued some ladies from time to time. It was understood, of course, that one did not discuss such matters. They were to be gossiped about and used as entertainment. However, if the person struggling under such an illness was one's self, then matters were infinitely more complicated. When it was the Kingțs very person to have contributed to the situation, then it was an assured matter that the court would soon find out and spread the knowledge as they saw fit.

"Are you certain we might not tempt you to have some wine at least, my lady?" questioned Beatrice, looking up from her game of cards. "I should not like to think we have been neglectful." Her subtle reproof was mirrored by the other two.

"Aye, my lady," Isabella started, "it is our duty and our honour to make certain you are in the best of health. How may we do that when you refuse our good advice?"

They worried, thinking about the life that had undoubtedly taken root in the womb of their mistress. Should their lady lose the child before it was born, no doubt the King would toss them all out. The utmost care was to be taken, even if the pregnancy proved false. It might still prove so.

At least Lady Anne had had enough wit to conceal her state and wait for a confirmation before spreading the news. Other women might have done differently.

"At the very least have some apples," invited Lena. She offered the small tray into Isabella's hold. She brought it to Anne.

"Very well," Anne finally gave in, picking up a slice and bringing it to her lips. She bit down slowly.


	9. Messy Hearts

Lady Beatrice stared with round eyes at her mistress. "But, my lady, any ailment is to be seen to by the court physicians." It was an unwritten rule, more so as news had to travel fast within the confined space of the King's court. The blonde ringlets of her hair fell over one shoulder like a golden shroud, putting Anne in the mind of a sumptuous funeral.

In a way, it was exactly what she was preparing for. Apprehension made her stomach squeeze uncomfortably. Nonetheless she nodded her head vigorously. "I must have a surgeon from without these walls. It is vital." Not so much in that she hoped the answer might be longer camouflaged, but that she was quite certain she might survive the nerves that beset her.

"If that is the wish of my lady," Isabella said after a moment of silence. "I shall fetch a physician." The lady curtseyed slowly as a sign of obedience.

"Be quick about it. As much as you can," Anne encouraged, sending her lady-in-waiting on her way. It was best to be done with the matter before anyone could ask too many questions about the whole of it, before anything became suspicious rather than merely strange. "Lady Beatrice, join her."

"Aye, my lady," the woman mentioned agreed, linking her arm through Isabella's.

Only Lady Lena remained at the small circular table, eyeing the sweet confections upon the table with something akin to suspicion. She had received a letter from her uncle, the man that played guardian to her, to announce that a husband had been found for her. The poor girl had been beside herself since the missive had made its way into her hands. She had repeatedly begged Anne to write to her uncle. But given the current circumstances, her German mistress could do very little to stop it.

Only if Henry decided to take to bride would she have any sort of power. Anne resisted the urge to stroke her middle and pushed away the thought of wedding. In much the way she had felt upon the day of her first wedding, her head pounded lightly, perspiration coating her palms. Discretely she wiped her hands upon the heavy folds of her dress, fingers clenching into the thick material.

"Lena, if you would be so kind, bring me a cup of wine," she prompted the forlorn girl, her eyes searching the chamber for Meredith's familiar form. Her closest companion was nowhere to be found.

As per request, Lena stood from her seat and walked to the carafe of wine, pouring some, with trembling hand, into a wide cup. She handed it to Anne and looked upon the woman with soulful eyes. She said not a thing. Anne handed her back the half drained cup and shared a small encouraging smile with the younger one. "Take heart," she said. "Not all is as bleak as you would think."

"Aye, my lady." But one could tell by the tone of voice that Lady Lena did not believe for a moment those words.

As if summoned from far away, the door opened to allow in Lady Meredith. The young woman entered, her cheeks flushed. She curtseyed towards Anne, an apology upon her lips. "My tardiness seems to have caused trouble. I can only beg that in your mercy you may forgive me, my lady."

Anne laughed. "There is no need to prostrate yourself," she assured. "Come, keep company with our Lady Lena. She seems not at all herself."

"Oh, my lady, pray do not concern yourself," Lena interrupted softly.

"Not at all," Meredith replied in Anne's stead. "I know just the thing, Lena. We shall play a game of cards, aye?"

The two of them found their way towards the table and began a game of cards just like Meredith said they would. In the meantime, Anne was once more left to her concerns, thoughts forever turning to the life that was quite possibly residing within her womb. She had not thought of it as a possibility, not in any tangible sense. Even when Meredith had warned of it, Anne had been inclined to dismiss it.

It was well known that age was a contributing factor and her own age, while not that of a withered hag, was certainly not the age of a blooming flower. It was much like the situation of the first of Henry's queens. She had grown more advanced in her age and as nature took its course, her womb refused to bear anymore offspring.

Anne had been, for some odd reason, certain that she too might never bear fruit. That her body told her seed had taken was in itself a shock. One for which she would need the assessment of a knowledgeable man. Thus, she could only rely on the aid of a physician from without.

Were Henry to find out of her suspicions, he would certainly have his own physicians consult her. And if it came to one's mind to please the King at all costs, they could well see that it was spread about she was with child, Henry would wed her. Yet if those words were lies, spoken only to momentarily gladden the soul of the King, then Anne's very life would be short, death swift and painful.

The lessons of Cromwell and Kathryn had yet to leave her. And there was another Anne that had failed in her duties. It was only to be expected that the old horse did not learn new tricks. Anne drew in a deep breath, releasing it in shuddering waves. She must be brave, the woman decided. Not only for herself, but for those depending upon her.

Conducting herself with care, the fine lady rose from her seat and made her way to the high window. She looked without, towards the inner courtyard. There was little to be seen. Mayhap more so for her own mind was troubled. May the saintly Father give her strength, she prayed to the darkened skies. May it somehow be that she found herself in a joyful or at least bearable situation.

"My lady, shan't you join us?" Meredith questioned suddenly, interrupting the flow of Anne's thoughts.

Shaking her head, the lady mentioned refused silently. A game of cards would not soothe her nerves. Certainly nothing would but to have a physician in her presence. She smiled towards her women nonetheless. "I prefer to look at the view," she said, so as to not produce worry within them.

Meredith gave her a look that suggested she was unconvinced. Anne merely shrugged and returned her attention to what lingered on the other side of the glass.

A soft knock on the door was soon to disturb her once more. Fearful and expectant, a hesitant motion of the head towards her ladies, that was the response Anne had for it. She turned her body towards the entrance, hands soothing at the folds of her dress in what should have rightly looked like a foolish attempt at regaining her composure.

Isabella and Beatrice entered, behind them came a middle aged man. He was dressed respectably and had a dignified look about him. In a manner he was reminiscent of Cromwell. A pang formed in Anne's chest. She allowed her eyes to fix upon the man as he bowed towards her, clearly surprised at having been brought to her.

"My lady," he greeted her respectfully. "I was told you have need of my expertise." The smooth voice washed against her, somewhat calming in its manner. It stood at odds with his tall frame and rough looking face, but it was a nice quality nonetheless.

"Indeed. I find myself in a delicate position," the German lady replied, willing him to understand without her saying the words. One hand pressed upon her middle, as if to clarify. The man's eyes followed the movement. He nodded his head.

"If my lady would be kind enough to speak to me of this ailment," the physician prompted, nodding towards a stool, indicating that Anne should seat herself. Her ladies scattered about her as he stepped closer.

"I find myself feeling odd at times. Food and drink do not sit well with me at times and I have grown tired of late." She dared not mention the sore bosom. That would be left for later. "Just this morning my stomach turned for all I've had nothing to eat." She questioned the man with her gaze, fingers drumming against her thigh.

"Is there an occasional pain in the chest area, as well?" the physician questioned, taking her hand in his, fingers searching for her pulse point. Anne nodded her head without voicing the answer. He let go of her wrist. "May I?" he questioned, hand lowering to the level of her midsection.

After a moment of hesitation, Anne nodded. She felt his palm press against her middle, just about where her own had rested previously. But his touch was harder, determined to find something where she could only speculate. "And your courses, my lady? Are they late, if you do not mind my question?"

Her courses were indeed late. But Anne knew not for how long. "I reckon 'tis so," she allowed though. His hand remained pressed to her stomach. "Tell me, is this what I believe it is?"

"A moment, my lady," he advised. Silence fell upon them as they all stood frozen like figures in a painting. Anne wished she could urge him to give her a reply, but knew nothing should come of it. So she held her tongue in check and exercised patience.

"Well?" a voice interrupted, startling Anne. She looked reproachfully over her shoulder at Lady Isabella.

"There is no ailment without cure, this that the lady suffered under," the physician said, a small smile upon his face. "Indeed, I believe this to be joyful news for this sickness shall pass soon enough to lead into a state of blessedness."

It could not be spoken in any clearer terms. Anne felt a rush of blood flooding her cheeks as she stood upon shaky legs. She felt much like a newborn colt, unsure of anything at all, trembling. Heat and cold latched onto her at the same time, her skin pricking painfully. The heart within her chest expanded until she thought her ribcage might give way and break. Oh, but what a relief that would be, to not feel her chest inadequate for such a heart as the one she had.

"My gratitude," she told the physician, signalling to Meredith that she had need of her bag of coin. Her lady hurried to fetch it and returned to deposit it into Anne's hands. "It is truly good of you to have indulged me. And now I've one more request." She took from within the pouch three coins. The precious metal gleamed in the daylight. "This must remain only between us."

The man nodded his head empathically, accepting his payment. Fingers curled around the precious coins. Anne smiled at him benevolently and threw him the small pouch as well. It was a last moment decision on her part. "No one is to know," she reminded him.

"Upon the wounds of Christ, our Lord, I swear," he promised, clutching his prize tightly to the chest. "If my lady should ever have need of me, I shall be at her disposal, a willing servant." It was no wonder that he would. Anne gave him an acknowledging nod.

"Lady Isabella, Lady Beatrice, see our guest without," the mistress prompted. It would be best for him to leave as he'd entered. "If anyone asks, he is a dear cousin of yours, any of you, that is."

She was with child. Even with the diagnose given, Anne had a hard time of it, believing took strength. Now what must be done was to let Henry know. Somehow. Yet the manner of it had to be as such that it would not attract the eyes of the whole court. Might be when he joined her within her bedchamber.

Before she could think further of it, arms engulfed her. Meredith murmured something her ear, squeezing her tightly, as if in consolation. But Anne remained motionless, unable to convince her heart to either hope or despair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Priest looked upon the three travellers with a cunning gleam in his eyes. It was quite clear that the man was measuring them up. Philipp knew the quality of their clothes gave them away, as sure as the fox was betrayed by its russet fur. If one paid enough mind the features of the priest did resemble such a beast with the long, pointed chin, small, dark eyes and slightly puckered lips.

"You have come late," he said in a broken German, but nonetheless took a step back and allowed them within the small church. Within the sparsely lit cavernous chamber, the lacquered floors gleamed, healthy wood beaming up at the visitors. "Not too late though," God's servant allowed.

Amalia, clearly quite at home already, stepped somewhat closer to Francis, their shoulders touching lightly. "That is just as well," she replied in a careful German, taking care to conceal a bit of her accent. "We were hoping that a man of God may be found to deliver us from sin."

Had Philipp not known any better he might have believed she'd been planning it all along, her little role. But Amalia rarely thought anything through. Still, he nodded his head along to her words and pulled out a few coins. "My sister is very devout," he supplied, offering the round small discs to the man.

The priest brought one of the coins to his mouth and sank his front teeth into it. Satisfied when no dent could be found upon it, he swiftly agreed that his little church was the very best place for them to be. "God is pleased with all His children who humbly turn to Him in their joys and sorrows." A thin smile lit his face. "If you would follow me." He led them further within, and then bade them to wait a few moments.

Candles, flowers and a veil were swiftly brought in by a young woman that had presumably been lurking in the shadows until that point. That all these were conveniently readied at the drop of a kerchief was not the concern of anyone. Philipp was only glad that Amalia would be wed and safe from her brother's wrath and that he too might be as well.

England awaited. King Henry's court. And Anna. There was another, one whom Philipp hoped still waited, but he could not be certain. Thus he pushed the thought of her away and concentrated upon what was being said to him.

Francis was patting Amalia's hand softly and nodding along to the instructions provided by the altar boy. The young round face flushed as Amalia giggled softly, no doubt enchanted with the girl. Philipp cut him a hard stare that did not even register. He sighed softly, glad that the end of it was near.

The priest finally came out, with a Bible in his hand. The decorated back of it presented a splendid workmanship. The man of God cleared his throat and nodded towards the couple that they were to separate for the time being.

"Come along, Amalia." Philipp took his cousin dear by the arm and led her away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Henry had been quite put out upon finding that Lord Latimer had grown worse in his ailment. The man had coin to pay to the Crown and by the way he dealt, the debt would never find itself solved. Edward Seymour's rather bleak face was proof enough of it. "And his wife says she shall pay?" he questioned the man before him, even as his thoughts turned away to other matters.

It had been quite enough for one day, he decided, unwilling to hear anything more upon the matters of the state. All he wished to do at the moment was hide himself of all these courtiers and spend a quiet evening within his bedchamber, possibly in the company of Anne. Nay, more likely than not in the company of Anne. If there was anyone he could stomach, than she was the one.

Holding a hand up, Henry silenced the speech of his lords. "I believe the end of it has come," he said, over the din. The King rose to his feet, a slight pain needling at his injured leg. "Let us then, my lords, take respite."

His wayward limb throbbed as he climbed down the three stairs set before the dais.

One of his grooms awaited hin within the hall. To this boy, Henry ordered upon a bark, "Fetch me Lady Anne of Cleves." The young one bowed to him and stepped backwards slowly. "Go on then, do not waste away the day." Or whatever was left of it.

His retainers filed out behind him, speaking softly among themselves. Henry paid them no mind. He began walking down the wide hallway, certain that those who ought to follow would shadow him.

Within the intimacy of his own thoughts relief was soon to flood him. At a long last, he could rest his weary head.

Anticipation coursed through him, though it was the slow slither of a river rather than a raging current.

Once within the royal chamber, the King sat down upon a chair and closed his eyes, in wait for the arrival of his beloved. Time seemed to drag by, as if God Himself crushed the hands of it, holding them together. Although he much desired to free himself from the lethargy that had stolen over him, Henry found he could do little but stir, opening his eyes slowly.

A soft knock announced her arrival and within a moment's notice, the door creaked open.

In came the woman.

"Anna, come," the King said, holding one hand out to her.

"Heinrich," she greeted in return, her own hand coming towards him. An uneasy smile was painted upon her lips. The motion seemed stranger still by the way her gaze shifted from him towards the wall. She bent down to press her lips to his cheek. "I have missed you."

"And I you," he replied in kind, puling her upon his uninjured leg. "But now you are here with me."

She hesitated. "Aye, now I am here." Anne leaned into him. "And glad I am for it."

As would he have been were it possible to not feel quite odd. "What is it? What manner of dark thoughts plague you?"


	10. And Tales Grim

 

 

 

 

 

 

Master Butts' florid face reddened further, as though the great many burdens he shouldered came down with full force upon him, intent on crushing the man. He wiped his forehead with a bit of soft linen lined with lace. The square soaked up the moisture. Henry cared little for the man's obvious discomfort though. What he did mind was the lack of a forthcoming answer. "Master Butts, perhaps you will answer my question," he snapped.

His patience was running thin. Were it any other man, under any other circumstances, Willam Butts would have long since found himself out on his ear. As matters stood, Henry gritted his teeth against the onset of ire and forced himself to breath as the other man opened his mouth.

He'd been in constant agony since Anna spoke the fateful words, guilelessly looking up into his face as she entrusted him with a most precious piece of information. His pain, for once, had little to do with the confounded leg and its ever festering injury. God's blood, never had he been so on edge. The fact that he had to wait, that uncertainty gnawed mercilessly at him even as his heart soared with undiluted joy at the possibility drove him half mad. He had to know.

A babe. Anna's claim of his seed having taken was surprising to say the least. He could not flatter her, nor would he do so, by ignoring her age presented itself as a first, certainly insurmountable obstacle. But then God had given Sarah a son in her old age and if He wished it, he might well give Anna a son. A son. Henry tightly held back the urge to smile. The very thought of holding another son to his bosom caused his breath to cut short.

Jane, poor lamb, had done her best and she was a true wife, truer than any other he'd known, her sweetness and devotion rewarded by the Lord with an heir to the English throne. He saw a like disposition in Anna. Any child was important; any potential son stood a wall between England and chaos. Henry had no desire to see the situation devolved into armed conflict. There had been enough wars, and there would be many more he had no doubt, without the succession as means to bolster such antics. His Jane staved off the conflict. Anna could be the mother of another son, one who would cement his father's legacy, ensuring that come hell or high water, the Tudor line would survive.

It had to be a son. With that thought, the frayed thread of his patience snapped. "Speak, man! Speak, or by the Cross, I shall have your tongue so you may keep your silence, knave!" That was enough to jolt the good physician out of his reverie.

"I humbly beg Your Majesty's pardon. 'Tis not oft one sees such graciousness from our Heavenly Lord. The Lady Anne is indeed with child and might be expected to deliver sometime beyond the new year from the looks of it."

Henry had the distinct urge to take to his knees before the Blessed Virgin, alas, most statues had been pulled down as his coffers had filled with riches. Cromwell, a man who had known his craft. If only; well, it was much too late for such regrets. Cromwell rotten in the ground and his successors would never quite manage to replace him. Nevertheless, he must go on.

"A child. You are certain?" he demanded of the physician. It could be a mistake, the thought wormed its way into his mind, momentarily marring his joy. Nay; it was not at all possible. There was a child. Anna carried his son. Master Butts nodded empathically, his hurried assurances quelling the rising bubble of unease.

"What does Your Majesty wish to do with the expectant mother?" the physician asked after a few moments of silence. The full lower lip jutted out awkwardly as his eyes widened, his mind no doubt filled with expectation.

What was he to do with her? Henry asked himself the question. He could not risk a son born out of wedlock. Edward needed a true brother. Someone upon whom he might depend. And Anna would need to take his oldest son to her bosom as she had done with Mary and Elizabeth. She would make a wonderful mother. Of that much he as certain. Edward would grow alongside his siblings and Henry would ensure that posterity had the appropriate amount of respect for the woman who shouldered such burdens, as the continuation of the line, with him.

For that, however, he had to make her his bride. A bride again. Only this time one to be kept. Henry stared into the eyes of the physician. "You will care for her, Master Butts, as if she were your own mother. You will ensure her comfort and good health; more importantly, you will make certain the child remains hale, that he will be delivered living and breathing in due time. Elsewise it is your life, my good man."

William Butts gave a perfunctory nod. "I shall do all I know, to the best of my abilities, to ensure Lady Anne and her child remain in good health."

"My child, Master Butts. My child." The man paled further, wetting his lower lip. Before long his eyes would be bulging out, Henry considered, a brief smile making its way to his face in spite of his best efforts to keep his a neutral mien. "You may be the first to congratulate me. On my upcoming nuptials and the birth of my child."

"Mostly heartily, Your Majesty, do I offer these congratulations. May your marriage be a happy occasion and the birth of your child additional fulfilment." He wondered whether he ought to press the poor man further, but it would not do. Anna awaited him and surely she too deserved a few kind words after the effort she had gone to so that she might please him.

"Kind words, Master Butts, very kind words. You may retreat." A wise man did not test the patience of his betters and William Butts seemed to be determined to prove himself a wise man. Without further words the physician made his way to the hall, leaving Henry in the antechamber, wondering whether he might enter directly, or if he should give his dearest Anna a few more moments to compose herself.

He chose, predictably enough if he stopped to think of it, to enter directly. She glanced up at him, pausing in her task. Warm eyes scrutinised his face as she kept her devoid of all feeling. It was unusual to see her so closed off. Henry did not know that he liked the look well on her. To remedy what to him seemed a most unfortunate occurrence, he walked to where she was seated, hands pleating the heavy skirts. Without a second thought he broke her grip upon the garb and took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb into the thin, precious skin. He added but little pressure, enough of it to make certain she understood his presence was non-negotiable.

Her eyes widened, gaze shifting ever so slightly, focusing on him, on his own eyes. "Anna, my dearest heart, my precious, you cannot know what a happy man you've made me." He would not keel before her; the pain would be too great. But he did not hesitate to bend at the waist and press firm kisses to her cheeks, and one of her forehead for good measure. "I am going to be a father."

"That you are, Your Majesty." There was something shy in her voice then, something he could not name but which gave him no peace. His heart expanded in his chest, the beating growing slow and heavy. "And I shall be a mother, God be willing." Anna bothered her lower lip. "I cannot help, though, but feel ill at ease."

"Why should you feel that?" He smoothed back her hair. Free of the headdress, it shone with health in the glow of the firelight. Henry pulled her up and embraced her. "Whatever it is, put it from your mind. I am here with you. I shan't let any ill befall you." As he spoke he knew himself to be a liar, or an optimist at best. One never knew what God decided; what death decided.

"What if the babe," she trailed off. Henry had no more desire than her to pursue such a line of thought. Thus when he failed to press for further detail, he was not surprised that she offered little other than a soft sound. "It is futile to worry over such matters. Your Majesty is correct, as ever, and I the fool for contemplating silly notions."

"You are not at all a fool, just a concerned mother. And how well it suits you, Anna, this role of mother." He led her to the bed and helped her sit upon it as he moved behind her. Soothing her was turning out to be an easier task than he had envisioned. Henry began tugging on the laces of her combination. The stiff bodice eased, releasing her trapped torso. Her shoulders rose and fell with breathing. He touched a finger to her nape, tracing a smooth line from top to the middle of her spine. The shift separating him from her he could not tug out of place. "You should rest."

"I can scarcely close my eyes for fear that 'tis but a dream I'm having." He wrestled the top garment away from her hold and threw it to the ground. Anna made a soft sound of protest. "Your Majesty, I am fond of this dress."

"You shall have as many dressed as you wish as my queen," he said as she wiggled her way out of the heavy skirts, turning her head so that she might see his face.

"Your queen, Heinrich?" The rough lilt of her German tongue thickened the words. Her throat worked, he could see, and her blood rushed to her face.

"My queen. Queen of England." His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her backwards until her back pressed into his chest. One hand settled over the flat of her stomach, stroking back and forth effortlessly. "I cannot allow my child to be born out of wedlock, Anna. Surely you would not visit such sin upon an innocent. Say you will wed me."

"Oh, Heinrich; how is that possible? The Church will surely not accept it." He had put her aside, after all, in his ignorance. No matter, he was King, and as certain as the sun rose in the east, he would do precisely as he pleased. "I am the King's belov'd sister in name."

"You are what I say you are, dearest. I shall consult with the Archbishop, have no fear, and I will see to setting a date at the nearest possible." It would not do for her condition to be visible. Best to have them wed before the month was out, if it could be done. "You have but to bring an agreeable disposition, and that is all I ask of you."

"If that is what Your Majesty wishes, I shall not protest." And that was what he enjoyed about Anna. She knew when to bend. A woman after his own heart. "For our child, Your Majesty."

Their child. His second son. "Precisely, for our child." Anna lied down, turning on her side so that she might face him. Henry followed her example. "Now sleep. You need your rest." He would have to take an interest in who her women were. Perhaps bring in a few trusted faces. But there would be time for that later. Henry allowed Anna to hide her face in his chest, her breath warm upon his flesh. Soon, he would have a child of this woman. With that thought, Henry drifted off into his own slumber, sweetened by the knowledge that he'd found at long last.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anne twisted the ring upon her finger, watching the light catch in the gemstone. She admired the colours as they leap towards her. In her heart, however, she was not quite as content. Henry was determined to wed her. And God only knew what her fate was to be.

A chilling thought struck her. What if she gave him a daughter? Her hand pressed against the place where she knew her child to be. Anne's sin had been giving him a daughter. Though they shared but a name between them and a man, who was to say Henry's anger at having another daughter would not see her in the stocks, or worse yet, at the end of the executioner's axe. She crossed herself for fear, "Merciful heavens." Whom would Henry accuse her of fornicating with? There was no man she had paying her court but him. To this point she had been scrupulously careful of whom she allowed close to her. But might be he would not go that path at all.

He could always claim she was a witch and had worked her enchantment on him to obtain certain gains. And her poor daughter would be left an orphan in the care of the good Lord only knew who. Would someone like her come along, willing to give the poor dears some attention, or would she be banished to some remote keep, made to endure indignity after indignity. And she could do naught to stop such a thing from happening. A woman was powerless as to choose the sex of her child. After all, all of Henry's wives had begged the Lord for a son; even the most reprobate of them, she was certain.

Cold sweat broke out across her nape. She felt the wet slide and the chill in the air stroke against her flesh. The touch was almost painful. If only her nerves were more settled; she might have withstood such an assault. As it was, Anne found herself gasping for breath, watching the doors hoping in equal measure that someone would come, or that no one would break into her sanctuary. The reality of her situation thus dawning upon her had Anne trembling beneath the weight of the threat and thought to herself, rather miserably, that Henry Tudor had ruined more than just her in his search for an heir; he had ruined her joy in the face of impeding motherhood. Even as she stood there, fingers worrying the ring upon her finger, she felt the light, airy feel choking, growing weaker and weaker within her, yet not extinguished. Her arms entwined around herself in a tight, protective hold. Henry would guard her against any outside threats. Who would guard her against Henry.

The maidens in folktales filled their pockets with peas and lentils when venturing out into the woods. She had neither, nor any apron pockets for her use. Beside which she had sealed her fate by increasing. If she were not breeding, she might have convinced herself to write to her brother. As her bloodkin he might have demanded her return, and thus achieved her safety. Trading one danger for another; and yet she had refused him when he posed such a proposition. Nay; she'd made her bed and she would have to dance to the bridegroom's tune, though he be a robber bridegroom. "Kehr um, kehr um, du junge Braut, du bist in einem Morderhaus." She itched to do as the poor young miller's daughter had done and followed the ash path. But her child; what did a mother not do for her babe?

A hand settled upon her shoulder, startling her. She yelped, the sound short and sharp. "Anna, what are you muttering to yourself, my lady?" She looked into Meredith's face. Her distress must have been plain upon her features for the other frowned.

"I was recalling an old tale. About the miller's daughter whose father wanted to wed her to a rich man but instead almost gave her to a murderer." Well, no matter; there was little use in beating a dead horse. "I was thinking this child could be a daughter just as well as a son."

"Do not seek out trouble," her companion snapped, lips flattening into a thin line. "It will be a son. We shall pray the Blessed Virgin, my lady. Every day from this one to the day you bring the child forth. I will make each of your ladies join you, if I must."

"If that were likely to aid, Meredith, you may be certain I would not leave chapel until I held a boy in my arms." Nonetheless, what could she possibly do other than pray? Her friend pointed out as much. "And that is the most frightening part. I will not be able to rest easy until I have had this child."

"Even Lady Anne Boleyn has a second chance, my lady. You mustn't fret. Think of your child." How could she not? "Your babe needs its mother in a pleasant state of mind."

"He wants to wed me," she told the other.

"Aye; that he would." If Meredith disapproved as severely as her face showed, she did not take the time to make such thoughts known. Instead she placed a cup into her hand. "The physician sent this, my lady, with clear instructions that you are to drink it."

Anne brought the dish closer to her face and sniffed at its contents. "What is this?" The dark brew did not an enormous amount of trust in her.

"A tonic, lady, for the child, to strengthen the hold of Our Majesty's seed in your womb." She gulped down a mouthful, struggling not to grimace at the taste. "We sweetened it with honey, but 'tis too bitter by half still."

"It is for the child," she echoed Henry's earlier sentiment, ingesting another swallow.

"So it is," agreed Meredith, eyeing the cup with obvious distaste. "Once you are done, my lady, the physician recommended you break your fast on soft foods. Spices might upset your stomach."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. The Twist Yet to Come

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You mustn't look quite so put out," Meredith whispered in her ears, "or were you not ordered to a happy mien?" Her devilish companion constantly reminded her of that, as if Anne were not aware her predicament forced certain reactions out of her. Instead of gratifying the reminder with any manner of compliance, she reached out for the sweetened concoctions the physicians expected her to drink. It was vile and revolting, yet many a mouth had made mention of its effectiveness. Loving mother that she was, Anne drank 'til the last drop.

Her transition from womanhood to motherhood was marked by an increase in her retinue. Pledging her troth to Henry came with additional companions and a long list of sycophants who were eager to enter into her good graces. Although she guessed some of them were as reluctant to approach her as she was to accept them.

Nonetheless, she turned an easy smile upon the latest of the young bucks making his bows before her. In truth, she was aware many eyes were upon her and felt the stares as one might feel stabs cutting wounds into tender flesh. Neither escape nor succour were anywhere in sight which left her little alternative but to put on the best of her masks.

"My lady looks in the best of health," the man said. Anne struggled to call to mind his name. Unfortunately she'd been much too distracted to pay it any heed. The man continued to lavish praise upon her, much to Meredith's amusement. In ever there was a time where she desired Henry to misunderstand a situation and step in, then these young fellows pestering her contributed heartily to just that kind of situation. It was not to be. The good Lord seemed to take as much pleasure in her predicament as her companion, for yet another admirer approached, this one, to her relief, with a woman on his arm.

Tall and slim, the female watched those about her with light blue eyes. She put her in the mind of Lady Beatrice. Her interest deepened though Anne did not deign to move from her spit. The pair was already making its way towards her and she rather suspected she would be on the receiving end of another round of congratulations. A soft smile painted her lips as she leaned back into her seat, whispering to Meredith, "How much longer need I grace the hall with my presence, do you think?"

"Not as long as all that. It is near time we prepared for the supper meal." Anne nodded her head and fortified herself for what was to come next.

"My lady," the man, whom she recalled was known by the name of Thomas, addressed her making a pretty leg for he benefit. Anne met the greeting with a regal, or so she hoped, nod. "I come on behalf of my brother, Baron Latimer, along with his wife. Catherine, do make your bows."

Catherine, most properly bowed to the wishes of her brother-in-law, bobbing gently and gracefully. "Pray allow me to congratulate you for this most profitable betrothal and the happy circumstance of the impeding union." Word did travel fast.

"I understand your husband has not been well these days." She'd also heard about some debts to the Crown. Mary had not been shy of telling her that much in her letters. Granted it would not do to pester his poor wife with too many questions. "Here, sit with me a moment, Lady Catherine. Sir Thomas, fear not leaving your sister-in-law in my care for the time being." Thus dismissed, Sir Thomas took his leave of them. "Pray, worry yourself not; I have heard much of you from Mary."

Something akin to mild distress nevertheless coloured the woman's features. "The poor child; she was saddened that she would not be allowed to join us in relying her best wishes on this wondrous occasion." Lady Catherine took her hands in hers, "She thinks the world of you, my lady."

"And I hold her in equally high esteem," Anne assured. Now that was a subject she could easily and readily converse on. "Tell me, has she been well? I've meant to go to her, alas, I have been detained by unforeseen circumstances."

"She is as well as can be expected. Longs to see her father and is much put out by the coldness these past few turns have stoked between them, our Lady Mary does. I trust my lady who holds her in such esteem will see to a thawing, if at all possible." It was as much of a prompt as she would ever get on that account. Anne blinked slowly, biding her time.

"I should like nothing more than to see all of the children happy together," she answered, keeping all emotions from her voice. "Naturally, I will do my best by His Majesty, although one never knows what the morrow brings." If she gave him a daughter, she was certain Henry would rather not be brought face to face with what he surely saw as past failures.

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but our good Lord is bound to see the kindness and grace with which my lady comports herself. He, in His wisdom, shall doubtlessly set the world to rights." Taking some pleasure in the encouragement, Anne nodded her head primly and resisted the urge to cross herself. Prayer could be achieved in the comfort of her own chamber.

"One can hope." Eager to change the subject away from her delicate state to something more comfortable she asked after the woman's husband. That she had to expound at length upon, if anything. Though, to be certain, it was rather strange that the woman had left the sick man's side to attend Mary in the first place. Albeit, might be it was a bright idea to pursue that train of thought any further. She had her own worries, after all.

"My poor John, he suffers greatly. But then he has not been the same since his fall from grace." Catherine proceeded to inform Anne of the many health troubles her husband suffered from. She listened with customary patience though her heart was not in it. Sorry as she felt for poor Lord John, her most sincere sorrow was affixed to the rather slow moving time. She'd noticed, of course, that since making known the state she found herself in, time no longer wished to be her ally. She forever found herself whiling the hours away, fretting, wondering, hoping. At least if God would see fit to give her some sign of His intentions.

The marriage could be considered one such sign. Normally, it would be more than enough to quell any sensible woman's fears. If Henry were any other man. But she saw him, already, smiling at some comely young thing, souring her mood even further. That he did not keep his attention to the creature eased her not one bit. At least it was not one of her own women; that would have been beyond mortifying. She would not see her. Gods be willing she would never make her acquaintance.

"John is not my first husband, though," Catherin continued. "Like you, my lady, I was wedded once before." Nevermind that poor Anne had been wedded to the same man. "Edward was such a sickly man that I never truly entertained much hope for him." In that moment something in the woman's expression shifted. A chill ran down Anne's spine. She did her best to conceal her reaction. "But John, heavens, the man was in the best of health even as recent as a year past. The thought of losing him," she trailed off, bringing out a square of carefully embroidered linen and dabbed at dry eyes.

That was it. The reason why discomfort had gripped her so tightly but a moment past. She'd seen some of herself in this woman's performance, in her fear of loss. Anne patted Lady Catherine's knee in a comforting manner and added some words. "My lady is so kind. Begging your pardon, as I know 'tis not the done thing to speak ill of the dead, but I reckon His Majesty shall be ever more pleased with this marriage than the one he endured with," there she paused as though scared to speak the name. While there had been no royal decree barring such actions, the wound was still considered too raw to poke and prod at.

"Let us hope it is as you predict, my lady," Anne answered, not entirely certain why Lady Catherine insisted with that. She would be ever so happy to speak to her of the hounds Henry had gifted her, or even of the new dresses which had been commissioned. She wondered if she would be heavy with child when the marriage took place and surmised that, indeed, she would, as matters progressed along in a rather slow manner. At least at her first wedding she'd looked a picture of maidenly virtue. God knew she'd felt maidenly too, might be too strongly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"How is that possible?" Philipp swore that at some point his poor mind would be thoroughly incapable of understanding one word directed towards him. He looked at the woman who had greeted them and waited for an answer. Amalia's loud gasp helped matters none. The silly girl had begun protesting, demanding to see her sister, for she'd understood at least that Anne did not reside in the keep at the time. He turned to her and snapped a command, while her husband took her aside, clearly intent on calming her down. As much as anyone could calm Amalia down.

"It is as I said," the old retainer insisted, her lined face giving away little. "My lady is in His Majesty's company and we do not expect her back anytime soon. For you see, lord, there has come word that His Majesty intends to wed her." Fear wormed its way inside of him, gripping at a heart which loved poor Anne very well indeed.

"Wed her? Once more?" Had he convinced the poor woman to come to his bed, he wondered, after so vehemently refusing to share it with her in the first place. Another thought occurred to him; that there had been no convincing to be had at all, just the carrying out of a will Anne could neither oppose nor stop in its advance. "And is there any word of when this marriage is expected to occur?" he questioned, mind working through the myriad of possibilities and the course he might take. Even still, Philipp shuddered to think of his friend in such a position.

"As to that, lord, we've little enough knowledge. One of my lady's women is to come here for the hounds and some of my lady's possessions, thus I reckon it must be soon enough." Had the King written to Anne's brother? But then he must not need to, after he'd married her once. And there was the small matter of Anne being the King's sister in name. Philipp might have been absent from the English court, but he had perfectly fine ears and rumour did travel fast.

"Very well then, since Lady Anne is absent, we shall pen her a missive announcing out arrival at court. 'Tis only proper that express their joy at such a happy occurrence." The woman gave a stiff nod, as though she could detect the less than genial nature of his words.

"I shall have rooms prepared, kin the meantime. My lady should like her hospitality kept alive and well." And that was that. Philipp gave a nod along with an uneasy smile before he turned towards his companions, bracing himself for whatever reactions his words would engage. Though he dearly hoped Amalia found the wherewithal to act the proper lady as she ought. Truly, who had ever seen a noblewoman screaming like a fishwife in the middle of a well-appointed room with servants in attendance? Anne would have been horrified. Might be it was just as well that his kin had managed to come along; she would doubtlessly benefit from some time spent with her sister.

Scowling at the impatient look Amalia threw him, Philipp indicated that they should all sit so he may better make his explanations. Before he could begin, Anne's hospitality was stroked to greater heights by her servants bringing in food and drinks, liberally filling the table. "Anne is not likely to return here anytime soon. In fact, according to her housekeeper, she is not to return at all. Word is that she is to wed the King again."

"Why that worm, who does he think he is?" Amalia raged most unbecomingly. "He cannot toy with my sister in such a manner." While Phlipp privately agreed, he did not hesitate in admonishing the young woman for her outburst. "Leave off; I am more than entitled to rail at my sister's unfair fate."

"You'd be best served, nonetheless," her husband cut in, ever the voice of reason, "to be more circumspect in your railing, dear wife. This is not your brother's home and we are in effects mere guests." One could hope the English were poorly prepared to listen for insult to their King spoken in another tongue. French, in any event, was favoured among the noble more so than German.

"She does not deserve to be so callously used. Her heart is tender. You do not see it, my lord husband, for you've spent too little time in her company to know, but she is easily bruised." After all, Amalia was not precisely wrong in her assessment. Anne was a tender-hearted woman who too easily gave other opportunities to cut her and she felt every cut most keenly. "And what if he should tire of her. He has killed two of his wives."

"Properly speaking, both had been accused of treason," Philipp pointed out. Not that he believed for a moment such were the case. Mary could not be the daughter of a traitor, no one with such a king, pure heart could. If her mother were indeed wicked, she as her daughter would have shown some of that deplorable imperfection. "Your sister is clever enough to avoid such a fate." She'd demonstrated as much when she had retired so gracefully after the King's initial refusal of her.

"This is not a matter of cleverness," Amalia insisted, her eyes darkening with anger. "The King in this country bows to no one, not even God Himself. My sister may depend on no one."

"And what do you propose we do?" Francis cut in before she could go off on a tangent, which she likely would have done had she but the chance. "If the King wishes to wed her, it is in her interest to obey."

"He cannot force her. No priest, even a corrupt English one, would accept such a vow."

"Poor Amalia, so blind to the injustice of the world," Philipp taunted, though without malice. "It is true that a vow made under duress would not be accepted. But you overlook the possibility that her refusal could bring an even worse fate down upon her."

The English King was not a man to calmly accept refusal. Not even from one as kind and well-meaning as Anne. Which left him with the very real possibility that she would serve as Queen of the English for a second time during her relatively short life. Philipp could only ask God for clemency in regards to her future. If King Henry wedded her, likely as not the reason had to do less with any engaged hearts and more with some possible gain he'd have of her. And since Anne brought no further dowry and the coffers of the King were not whispered to be empty, the only advantage Philipp could think of was the less substantial but no less important potential for heirs.

If there was one think the King wanted, then that, to his knowledge, was more male heirs born to him and whatever unfortunate soul possessed the transitory position of Queen of England. But a queen she would be, which roused another possibility altogether. One which found happier chords to strike. If all went well and she gave her Henry a son, doubtlessly her power would grow. Doubtlessly, her word would carry weight. And doubtlessly, Anne, of the generous spirit and uncommon kindness, would not forget his own plight. All in all, she stood to gain much for herself, and for him as well.

"Philipp!" Amalia's shrill cry carried indignation. "Have you been listening to a thing I said?" He shook his head, which naturally resulted in a few choice words leaving the young woman's lips. Better that Francis know what to expect should he find himself on the receiving end of his wife's ire. And who better to show him than Philipp whose entire being was slowly slipping away. "Francis, we cannot allow my sister to suffer needlessly. Let the English King choose from his own countrywomen."

"Much as I wish to aid your sister, dearest, it does so happen that we are powerless in these parts. If it please you, I shall nevertheless offer her shelter should she choose to take it." Obviously delighted by her spouse's generosity, Amalia clapped he hands happily. "Not," Francis cut through her joy, "that I believe she would take it. I imagine that your sister weds for her own purpose as much as the King weds for his." So he too had taken the time to consider the matter.

For his part, Philipp took hold of a cup of wine and drained half of it. Amalia debate her beleaguered husband, which to his mind ought to teach Francis a lesson about wedding a pretty face in the first place. He did not attend the conversation, mostly because he was more or less aware of its conclusion. Amalia would do her best to convince her spouse that she had the right of it; Francis would be, predictably, unwilling to bow to her in this. In spite of that, he allowed her to speak her mind. Which to be fair placed him a cut above many a husband Amalia might have had. Philipp shook his head, wondering if the rooms had been prepared.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
